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{ "type": "Feature", "properties": { "sherlock": "The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Study In Scarlet, by Arthur Conan Doyle\u000a\u000aThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\u000aalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\u000are-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\u000awith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org\u000a\u000a\u000aTitle: A Study In Scarlet\u000a\u000aAuthor: Arthur Conan Doyle\u000a\u000aPosting Date: July 12, 2008 [EBook #244]\u000aRelease Date: April, 1995\u000aLast Updated: September 30, 2016\u000a\u000aLanguage: English\u000a\u000aCharacter set encoding: UTF-8\u000a\u000a*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A STUDY IN SCARLET ***\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aProduced by Roger Squires\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aA STUDY IN SCARLET.\u000a\u000aBy A. Conan Doyle\u000a\u000a[1]\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a     Original Transcriber’s Note: This etext is prepared directly\u000a     from an 1887 edition, and care has been taken to duplicate the\u000a     original exactly, including typographical and punctuation\u000a     vagaries.\u000a\u000a     Additions to the text include adding the underscore character to\u000a     indicate italics, and textual end-notes in square braces.\u000a\u000a     Project Gutenberg Editor’s Note: In reproofing and moving old PG\u000a     files such as this to the present PG directory system it is the\u000a     policy to reformat the text to conform to present PG Standards.\u000a     In this case however, in consideration of the note above of the\u000a     original transcriber describing his care to try to duplicate the\u000a     original 1887 edition as to typography and punctuation vagaries,\u000a     no changes have been made in this ascii text file. However, in\u000a     the Latin-1 file and this html file, present standards are\u000a     followed and the several French and Spanish words have been\u000a     given their proper accents.\u000a\u000a\u0009 Part II, The Country of the Saints, deals much with the Mormon Church.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aA STUDY IN SCARLET.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aPART I.\u000a\u000a(_Being a reprint from the reminiscences of_ JOHN H. WATSON, M.D., _late\u000aof the Army Medical Department._) [2]\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER I. MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES.\u000a\u000a\u000aIN the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the\u000aUniversity of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course\u000aprescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there,\u000aI was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant\u000aSurgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before\u000aI could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out. On landing at\u000aBombay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, and\u000awas already deep in the enemy’s country. I followed, however, with many\u000aother officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded\u000ain reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once\u000aentered upon my new duties.\u000a\u000aThe campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had\u000anothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and\u000aattached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of\u000aMaiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which\u000ashattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have\u000afallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the\u000adevotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a\u000apack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines.\u000a\u000aWorn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had\u000aundergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to\u000athe base hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied, and had already improved\u000aso far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little\u000aupon the verandah, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse\u000aof our Indian possessions. For months my life was despaired of, and\u000awhen at last I came to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak and\u000aemaciated that a medical board determined that not a day should be lost\u000ain sending me back to England. I was dispatched, accordingly, in the\u000atroopship “Orontes,” and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with\u000amy health irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternal\u000agovernment to spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it.\u000a\u000aI had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as\u000aair--or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will\u000apermit a man to be. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to\u000aLondon, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of\u000athe Empire are irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at\u000aa private hotel in the Strand, leading a comfortless, meaningless\u000aexistence, and spending such money as I had, considerably more freely\u000athan I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances become, that\u000aI soon realized that I must either leave the metropolis and rusticate\u000asomewhere in the country, or that I must make a complete alteration in\u000amy style of living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making\u000aup my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters in some less\u000apretentious and less expensive domicile.\u000a\u000aOn the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was standing at\u000athe Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning\u000around I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at\u000aBarts. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of London is\u000aa pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days Stamford had never\u000abeen a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm,\u000aand he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the\u000aexuberance of my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and\u000awe started off together in a hansom.\u000a\u000a“Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?” he asked in\u000aundisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded London streets.\u000a“You are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut.”\u000a\u000aI gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it\u000aby the time that we reached our destination.\u000a\u000a“Poor devil!” he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to my\u000amisfortunes. “What are you up to now?”\u000a\u000a“Looking for lodgings.” [3] I answered. “Trying to solve the problem\u000aas to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable\u000aprice.”\u000a\u000a“That’s a strange thing,” remarked my companion; “you are the second man\u000ato-day that has used that expression to me.”\u000a\u000a“And who was the first?” I asked.\u000a\u000a“A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital.\u000aHe was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone\u000ato go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which\u000awere too much for his purse.”\u000a\u000a“By Jove!” I cried, “if he really wants someone to share the rooms and\u000athe expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner\u000ato being alone.”\u000a\u000aYoung Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine-glass. “You\u000adon’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; “perhaps you would not care\u000afor him as a constant companion.”\u000a\u000a“Why, what is there against him?”\u000a\u000a“Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against him. He is a little queer\u000ain his ideas--an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I\u000aknow he is a decent fellow enough.”\u000a\u000a“A medical student, I suppose?” said I.\u000a\u000a“No--I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well\u000aup in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know,\u000ahe has never taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are\u000avery desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way\u000aknowledge which would astonish his professors.”\u000a\u000a“Did you never ask him what he was going in for?” I asked.\u000a\u000a“No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be\u000acommunicative enough when the fancy seizes him.”\u000a\u000a“I should like to meet him,” I said. “If I am to lodge with anyone, I\u000ashould prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. I am not strong\u000aenough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in\u000aAfghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. How\u000acould I meet this friend of yours?”\u000a\u000a“He is sure to be at the laboratory,” returned my companion. “He either\u000aavoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning to\u000anight. If you like, we shall drive round together after luncheon.”\u000a\u000a“Certainly,” I answered, and the conversation drifted away into other\u000achannels.\u000a\u000aAs we made our way to the hospital after leaving the Holborn, Stamford\u000agave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed to\u000atake as a fellow-lodger.\u000a\u000a“You mustn’t blame me if you don’t get on with him,” he said; “I know\u000anothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasionally in\u000athe laboratory. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me\u000aresponsible.”\u000a\u000a“If we don’t get on it will be easy to part company,” I answered. “It\u000aseems to me, Stamford,” I added, looking hard at my companion, “that you\u000ahave some reason for washing your hands of the matter. Is this fellow’s\u000atemper so formidable, or what is it? Don’t be mealy-mouthed about it.”\u000a\u000a“It is not easy to express the inexpressible,” he answered with a laugh.\u000a“Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes--it approaches to\u000acold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of\u000athe latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand,\u000abut simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea\u000aof the effects. To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself\u000awith the same readiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and\u000aexact knowledge.”\u000a\u000a“Very right too.”\u000a\u000a“Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to beating the\u000asubjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking\u000arather a bizarre shape.”\u000a\u000a“Beating the subjects!”\u000a\u000a“Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. I saw him\u000aat it with my own eyes.”\u000a\u000a“And yet you say he is not a medical student?”\u000a\u000a“No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies are. But here we\u000aare, and you must form your own impressions about him.” As he spoke, we\u000aturned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side-door, which\u000aopened into a wing of the great hospital. It was familiar ground to me,\u000aand I needed no guiding as we ascended the bleak stone staircase and\u000amade our way down the long corridor with its vista of whitewashed\u000awall and dun-coloured doors. Near the further end a low arched passage\u000abranched away from it and led to the chemical laboratory.\u000a\u000aThis was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles.\u000aBroad, low tables were scattered about, which bristled with retorts,\u000atest-tubes, and little Bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering flames.\u000aThere was only one student in the room, who was bending over a distant\u000atable absorbed in his work. At the sound of our steps he glanced round\u000aand sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure. “I’ve found it! I’ve\u000afound it,” he shouted to my companion, running towards us with a\u000atest-tube in his hand. “I have found a re-agent which is precipitated\u000aby hoemoglobin, [4] and by nothing else.” Had he discovered a gold mine,\u000agreater delight could not have shone upon his features.\u000a\u000a“Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said Stamford, introducing us.\u000a\u000a“How are you?” he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength\u000afor which I should hardly have given him credit. “You have been in\u000aAfghanistan, I perceive.”\u000a\u000a“How on earth did you know that?” I asked in astonishment.\u000a\u000a“Never mind,” said he, chuckling to himself. “The question now is about\u000ahoemoglobin. No doubt you see the significance of this discovery of\u000amine?”\u000a\u000a“It is interesting, chemically, no doubt,” I answered, “but\u000apractically----”\u000a\u000a“Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years.\u000aDon’t you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains. Come\u000aover here now!” He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and\u000adrew me over to the table at which he had been working. “Let us have\u000asome fresh blood,” he said, digging a long bodkin into his finger, and\u000adrawing off the resulting drop of blood in a chemical pipette. “Now, I\u000aadd this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that\u000athe resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water. The proportion\u000aof blood cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however,\u000athat we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction.” As he\u000aspoke, he threw into the vessel a few white crystals, and then added\u000asome drops of a transparent fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a\u000adull mahogany colour, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom\u000aof the glass jar.\u000a\u000a“Ha! ha!” he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a\u000achild with a new toy. “What do you think of that?”\u000a\u000a“It seems to be a very delicate test,” I remarked.\u000a\u000a“Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacum test was very clumsy and\u000auncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles. The\u000alatter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this appears\u000ato act as well whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been\u000ainvented, there are hundreds of men now walking the earth who would long\u000aago have paid the penalty of their crimes.”\u000a\u000a“Indeed!” I murmured.\u000a\u000a“Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. A man is\u000asuspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. His\u000alinen or clothes are examined, and brownish stains discovered upon them.\u000aAre they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains,\u000aor what are they? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert,\u000aand why? Because there was no reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock\u000aHolmes’ test, and there will no longer be any difficulty.”\u000a\u000aHis eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his\u000aheart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his\u000aimagination.\u000a\u000a“You are to be congratulated,” I remarked, considerably surprised at his\u000aenthusiasm.\u000a\u000a“There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year. He would\u000acertainly have been hung had this test been in existence. Then there was\u000aMason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre of Montpellier,\u000aand Samson of New Orleans. I could name a score of cases in which it\u000awould have been decisive.”\u000a\u000a“You seem to be a walking calendar of crime,” said Stamford with a\u000alaugh. “You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the ‘Police News\u000aof the Past.’”\u000a\u000a“Very interesting reading it might be made, too,” remarked Sherlock\u000aHolmes, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prick on his finger.\u000a“I have to be careful,” he continued, turning to me with a smile, “for I\u000adabble with poisons a good deal.” He held out his hand as he spoke, and\u000aI noticed that it was all mottled over with similar pieces of plaster,\u000aand discoloured with strong acids.\u000a\u000a“We came here on business,” said Stamford, sitting down on a high\u000athree-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with\u000ahis foot. “My friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were\u000acomplaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought\u000athat I had better bring you together.”\u000a\u000aSherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with\u000ame. “I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street,” he said, “which would\u000asuit us down to the ground. You don’t mind the smell of strong tobacco,\u000aI hope?”\u000a\u000a“I always smoke ‘ship’s’ myself,” I answered.\u000a\u000a“That’s good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally\u000ado experiments. Would that annoy you?”\u000a\u000a“By no means.”\u000a\u000a“Let me see--what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at\u000atimes, and don’t open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am\u000asulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I’ll soon be right. What\u000ahave you to confess now? It’s just as well for two fellows to know the\u000aworst of one another before they begin to live together.”\u000a\u000aI laughed at this cross-examination. “I keep a bull pup,” I said, “and\u000aI object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts\u000aof ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices\u000awhen I’m well, but those are the principal ones at present.”\u000a\u000a“Do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?” he asked,\u000aanxiously.\u000a\u000a“It depends on the player,” I answered. “A well-played violin is a treat\u000afor the gods--a badly-played one----”\u000a\u000a“Oh, that’s all right,” he cried, with a merry laugh. “I think we may\u000aconsider the thing as settled--that is, if the rooms are agreeable to\u000ayou.”\u000a\u000a“When shall we see them?”\u000a\u000a“Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we’ll go together and settle\u000aeverything,” he answered.\u000a\u000a“All right--noon exactly,” said I, shaking his hand.\u000a\u000aWe left him working among his chemicals, and we walked together towards\u000amy hotel.\u000a\u000a“By the way,” I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford, “how\u000athe deuce did he know that I had come from Afghanistan?”\u000a\u000aMy companion smiled an enigmatical smile. “That’s just his little\u000apeculiarity,” he said. “A good many people have wanted to know how he\u000afinds things out.”\u000a\u000a“Oh! a mystery is it?” I cried, rubbing my hands. “This is very piquant.\u000aI am much obliged to you for bringing us together. ‘The proper study of\u000amankind is man,’ you know.”\u000a\u000a“You must study him, then,” Stamford said, as he bade me good-bye.\u000a“You’ll find him a knotty problem, though. I’ll wager he learns more\u000aabout you than you about him. Good-bye.”\u000a\u000a“Good-bye,” I answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerably\u000ainterested in my new acquaintance.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER II. THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION.\u000a\u000a\u000aWE met next day as he had arranged, and inspected the rooms at No. 221B,\u000a[5] Baker Street, of which he had spoken at our meeting. They\u000aconsisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms and a single large\u000aairy sitting-room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated by two broad\u000awindows. So desirable in every way were the apartments, and so moderate\u000adid the terms seem when divided between us, that the bargain was\u000aconcluded upon the spot, and we at once entered into possession.\u000aThat very evening I moved my things round from the hotel, and on the\u000afollowing morning Sherlock Holmes followed me with several boxes and\u000aportmanteaus. For a day or two we were busily employed in unpacking and\u000alaying out our property to the best advantage. That done, we\u000agradually began to settle down and to accommodate ourselves to our new\u000asurroundings.\u000a\u000aHolmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. He was quiet\u000ain his ways, and his habits were regular. It was rare for him to be\u000aup after ten at night, and he had invariably breakfasted and gone out\u000abefore I rose in the morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chemical\u000alaboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, and occasionally in long\u000awalks, which appeared to take him into the lowest portions of the City.\u000aNothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; but\u000anow and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would\u000alie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving\u000aa muscle from morning to night. On these occasions I have noticed such\u000aa dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes, that I might have suspected him\u000aof being addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperance\u000aand cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion.\u000a\u000aAs the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to his\u000aaims in life, gradually deepened and increased. His very person and\u000aappearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casual\u000aobserver. In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively\u000alean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and\u000apiercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded;\u000aand his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of\u000aalertness and decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and squareness\u000awhich mark the man of determination. His hands were invariably\u000ablotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of\u000aextraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe\u000awhen I watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments.\u000a\u000aThe reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confess how\u000amuch this man stimulated my curiosity, and how often I endeavoured\u000ato break through the reticence which he showed on all that concerned\u000ahimself. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, how\u000aobjectless was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention.\u000aMy health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather was\u000aexceptionally genial, and I had no friends who would call upon me and\u000abreak the monotony of my daily existence. Under these circumstances, I\u000aeagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, and\u000aspent much of my time in endeavouring to unravel it.\u000a\u000aHe was not studying medicine. He had himself, in reply to a question,\u000aconfirmed Stamford’s opinion upon that point. Neither did he appear to\u000ahave pursued any course of reading which might fit him for a degree in\u000ascience or any other recognized portal which would give him an entrance\u000ainto the learned world. Yet his zeal for certain studies was remarkable,\u000aand within eccentric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample\u000aand minute that his observations have fairly astounded me. Surely no man\u000awould work so hard or attain such precise information unless he had some\u000adefinite end in view. Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the\u000aexactness of their learning. No man burdens his mind with small matters\u000aunless he has some very good reason for doing so.\u000a\u000aHis ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary\u000aliterature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing.\u000aUpon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he\u000amight be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however,\u000awhen I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory\u000aand of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human\u000abeing in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth\u000atravelled round the sun appeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact\u000athat I could hardly realize it.\u000a\u000a“You appear to be astonished,” he said, smiling at my expression of\u000asurprise. “Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it.”\u000a\u000a“To forget it!”\u000a\u000a“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is\u000alike a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture\u000aas you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he\u000acomes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets\u000acrowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that\u000ahe has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman\u000ais very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will\u000ahave nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of\u000athese he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It\u000ais a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can\u000adistend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every\u000aaddition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is\u000aof the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing\u000aout the useful ones.”\u000a\u000a“But the Solar System!” I protested.\u000a\u000a“What the deuce is it to me?” he interrupted impatiently; “you say\u000athat we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a\u000apennyworth of difference to me or to my work.”\u000a\u000aI was on the point of asking him what that work might be, but something\u000ain his manner showed me that the question would be an unwelcome one. I\u000apondered over our short conversation, however, and endeavoured to draw\u000amy deductions from it. He said that he would acquire no knowledge which\u000adid not bear upon his object. Therefore all the knowledge which he\u000apossessed was such as would be useful to him. I enumerated in my own\u000amind all the various points upon which he had shown me that he was\u000aexceptionally well-informed. I even took a pencil and jotted them down.\u000aI could not help smiling at the document when I had completed it. It ran\u000ain this way--\u000a\u000a\u000aSHERLOCK HOLMES--his limits.\u000a\u000a  1. Knowledge of Literature.--Nil.\u000a  2.              Philosophy.--Nil.\u000a  3.              Astronomy.--Nil.\u000a  4.              Politics.--Feeble.\u000a  5.              Botany.--Variable.  Well up in belladonna,\u000a                              opium, and poisons generally.\u000a                              Knows nothing of practical gardening.\u000a  6.              Geology.--Practical, but limited.\u000a                               Tells at a glance different soils\u000a                               from each other.  After walks has\u000a                               shown me splashes upon his trousers,\u000a                               and told me by their colour and\u000a                               consistence in what part of London\u000a                               he had received them.\u000a  7.              Chemistry.--Profound.\u000a  8.              Anatomy.--Accurate, but unsystematic.\u000a  9.              Sensational Literature.--Immense.  He appears\u000a                              to know every detail of every horror\u000a                              perpetrated in the century.\u000a  10. Plays the violin well.\u000a  11. Is an expert singlestick player, boxer, and swordsman.\u000a  12. Has a good practical knowledge of British law.\u000a\u000a\u000aWhen I had got so far in my list I threw it into the fire in despair.\u000a“If I can only find what the fellow is driving at by reconciling all\u000athese accomplishments, and discovering a calling which needs them all,”\u000a I said to myself, “I may as well give up the attempt at once.”\u000a\u000aI see that I have alluded above to his powers upon the violin. These\u000awere very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments.\u000aThat he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, I knew well, because\u000aat my request he has played me some of Mendelssohn’s Lieder, and other\u000afavourites. When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any\u000amusic or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of\u000aan evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle\u000awhich was thrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were sonorous and\u000amelancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they\u000areflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided\u000athose thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim\u000aor fancy was more than I could determine. I might have rebelled against\u000athese exasperating solos had it not been that he usually terminated them\u000aby playing in quick succession a whole series of my favourite airs as a\u000aslight compensation for the trial upon my patience.\u000a\u000aDuring the first week or so we had no callers, and I had begun to think\u000athat my companion was as friendless a man as I was myself. Presently,\u000ahowever, I found that he had many acquaintances, and those in the most\u000adifferent classes of society. There was one little sallow rat-faced,\u000adark-eyed fellow who was introduced to me as Mr. Lestrade, and who came\u000athree or four times in a single week. One morning a young girl called,\u000afashionably dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. The same\u000aafternoon brought a grey-headed, seedy visitor, looking like a Jew\u000apedlar, who appeared to me to be much excited, and who was closely\u000afollowed by a slip-shod elderly woman. On another occasion an old\u000awhite-haired gentleman had an interview with my companion; and on\u000aanother a railway porter in his velveteen uniform. When any of these\u000anondescript individuals put in an appearance, Sherlock Holmes used to\u000abeg for the use of the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bed-room.\u000aHe always apologized to me for putting me to this inconvenience. “I have\u000ato use this room as a place of business,” he said, “and these people\u000aare my clients.” Again I had an opportunity of asking him a point blank\u000aquestion, and again my delicacy prevented me from forcing another man to\u000aconfide in me. I imagined at the time that he had some strong reason for\u000anot alluding to it, but he soon dispelled the idea by coming round to\u000athe subject of his own accord.\u000a\u000aIt was upon the 4th of March, as I have good reason to remember, that I\u000arose somewhat earlier than usual, and found that Sherlock Holmes had not\u000ayet finished his breakfast. The landlady had become so accustomed to my\u000alate habits that my place had not been laid nor my coffee prepared. With\u000athe unreasonable petulance of mankind I rang the bell and gave a curt\u000aintimation that I was ready. Then I picked up a magazine from the table\u000aand attempted to while away the time with it, while my companion munched\u000asilently at his toast. One of the articles had a pencil mark at the\u000aheading, and I naturally began to run my eye through it.\u000a\u000aIts somewhat ambitious title was “The Book of Life,” and it attempted to\u000ashow how much an observant man might learn by an accurate and systematic\u000aexamination of all that came in his way. It struck me as being a\u000aremarkable mixture of shrewdness and of absurdity. The reasoning was\u000aclose and intense, but the deductions appeared to me to be far-fetched\u000aand exaggerated. The writer claimed by a momentary expression, a twitch\u000aof a muscle or a glance of an eye, to fathom a man’s inmost thoughts.\u000aDeceit, according to him, was an impossibility in the case of one\u000atrained to observation and analysis. His conclusions were as infallible\u000aas so many propositions of Euclid. So startling would his results appear\u000ato the uninitiated that until they learned the processes by which he had\u000aarrived at them they might well consider him as a necromancer.\u000a\u000a“From a drop of water,” said the writer, “a logician could infer the\u000apossibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without having seen or heard of\u000aone or the other. So all life is a great chain, the nature of which is\u000aknown whenever we are shown a single link of it. Like all other arts,\u000athe Science of Deduction and Analysis is one which can only be acquired\u000aby long and patient study nor is life long enough to allow any mortal\u000ato attain the highest possible perfection in it. Before turning to\u000athose moral and mental aspects of the matter which present the greatest\u000adifficulties, let the enquirer begin by mastering more elementary\u000aproblems. Let him, on meeting a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to\u000adistinguish the history of the man, and the trade or profession to\u000awhich he belongs. Puerile as such an exercise may seem, it sharpens the\u000afaculties of observation, and teaches one where to look and what to look\u000afor. By a man’s finger nails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boot, by his\u000atrouser knees, by the callosities of his forefinger and thumb, by his\u000aexpression, by his shirt cuffs--by each of these things a man’s calling\u000ais plainly revealed. That all united should fail to enlighten the\u000acompetent enquirer in any case is almost inconceivable.”\u000a\u000a“What ineffable twaddle!” I cried, slapping the magazine down on the\u000atable, “I never read such rubbish in my life.”\u000a\u000a“What is it?” asked Sherlock Holmes.\u000a\u000a“Why, this article,” I said, pointing at it with my egg spoon as I sat\u000adown to my breakfast. “I see that you have read it since you have marked\u000ait. I don’t deny that it is smartly written. It irritates me though. It\u000ais evidently the theory of some arm-chair lounger who evolves all these\u000aneat little paradoxes in the seclusion of his own study. It is not\u000apractical. I should like to see him clapped down in a third class\u000acarriage on the Underground, and asked to give the trades of all his\u000afellow-travellers. I would lay a thousand to one against him.”\u000a\u000a“You would lose your money,” Sherlock Holmes remarked calmly. “As for\u000athe article I wrote it myself.”\u000a\u000a“You!”\u000a\u000a“Yes, I have a turn both for observation and for deduction. The\u000atheories which I have expressed there, and which appear to you to be so\u000achimerical are really extremely practical--so practical that I depend\u000aupon them for my bread and cheese.”\u000a\u000a“And how?” I asked involuntarily.\u000a\u000a“Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose I am the only one in the\u000aworld. I’m a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is.\u000aHere in London we have lots of Government detectives and lots of private\u000aones. When these fellows are at fault they come to me, and I manage to\u000aput them on the right scent. They lay all the evidence before me, and I\u000aam generally able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of\u000acrime, to set them straight. There is a strong family resemblance about\u000amisdeeds, and if you have all the details of a thousand at your finger\u000aends, it is odd if you can’t unravel the thousand and first. Lestrade\u000ais a well-known detective. He got himself into a fog recently over a\u000aforgery case, and that was what brought him here.”\u000a\u000a“And these other people?”\u000a\u000a“They are mostly sent on by private inquiry agencies. They are\u000aall people who are in trouble about something, and want a little\u000aenlightening. I listen to their story, they listen to my comments, and\u000athen I pocket my fee.”\u000a\u000a“But do you mean to say,” I said, “that without leaving your room you\u000acan unravel some knot which other men can make nothing of, although they\u000ahave seen every detail for themselves?”\u000a\u000a“Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way. Now and again a case\u000aturns up which is a little more complex. Then I have to bustle about and\u000asee things with my own eyes. You see I have a lot of special knowledge\u000awhich I apply to the problem, and which facilitates matters wonderfully.\u000aThose rules of deduction laid down in that article which aroused your\u000ascorn, are invaluable to me in practical work. Observation with me is\u000asecond nature. You appeared to be surprised when I told you, on our\u000afirst meeting, that you had come from Afghanistan.”\u000a\u000a“You were told, no doubt.”\u000a\u000a“Nothing of the sort. I _knew_ you came from Afghanistan. From long\u000ahabit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind, that I\u000aarrived at the conclusion without being conscious of intermediate steps.\u000aThere were such steps, however. The train of reasoning ran, ‘Here is a\u000agentleman of a medical type, but with the air of a military man. Clearly\u000aan army doctor, then. He has just come from the tropics, for his face is\u000adark, and that is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are\u000afair. He has undergone hardship and sickness, as his haggard face says\u000aclearly. His left arm has been injured. He holds it in a stiff and\u000aunnatural manner. Where in the tropics could an English army doctor have\u000aseen much hardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan.’ The\u000awhole train of thought did not occupy a second. I then remarked that you\u000acame from Afghanistan, and you were astonished.”\u000a\u000a“It is simple enough as you explain it,” I said, smiling. “You remind\u000ame of Edgar Allen Poe’s Dupin. I had no idea that such individuals did\u000aexist outside of stories.”\u000a\u000aSherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. “No doubt you think that you are\u000acomplimenting me in comparing me to Dupin,” he observed. “Now, in my\u000aopinion, Dupin was a very inferior fellow. That trick of his of breaking\u000ain on his friends’ thoughts with an apropos remark after a quarter of\u000aan hour’s silence is really very showy and superficial. He had some\u000aanalytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such a phenomenon as\u000aPoe appeared to imagine.”\u000a\u000a“Have you read Gaboriau’s works?” I asked. “Does Lecoq come up to your\u000aidea of a detective?”\u000a\u000aSherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. “Lecoq was a miserable bungler,”\u000a he said, in an angry voice; “he had only one thing to recommend him, and\u000athat was his energy. That book made me positively ill. The question was\u000ahow to identify an unknown prisoner. I could have done it in twenty-four\u000ahours. Lecoq took six months or so. It might be made a text-book for\u000adetectives to teach them what to avoid.”\u000a\u000aI felt rather indignant at having two characters whom I had admired\u000atreated in this cavalier style. I walked over to the window, and stood\u000alooking out into the busy street. “This fellow may be very clever,” I\u000asaid to myself, “but he is certainly very conceited.”\u000a\u000a“There are no crimes and no criminals in these days,” he said,\u000aquerulously. “What is the use of having brains in our profession. I know\u000awell that I have it in me to make my name famous. No man lives or has\u000aever lived who has brought the same amount of study and of natural\u000atalent to the detection of crime which I have done. And what is the\u000aresult? There is no crime to detect, or, at most, some bungling villainy\u000awith a motive so transparent that even a Scotland Yard official can see\u000athrough it.”\u000a\u000aI was still annoyed at his bumptious style of conversation. I thought it\u000abest to change the topic.\u000a\u000a“I wonder what that fellow is looking for?” I asked, pointing to a\u000astalwart, plainly-dressed individual who was walking slowly down the\u000aother side of the street, looking anxiously at the numbers. He had\u000aa large blue envelope in his hand, and was evidently the bearer of a\u000amessage.\u000a\u000a“You mean the retired sergeant of Marines,” said Sherlock Holmes.\u000a\u000a“Brag and bounce!” thought I to myself. “He knows that I cannot verify\u000ahis guess.”\u000a\u000aThe thought had hardly passed through my mind when the man whom we were\u000awatching caught sight of the number on our door, and ran rapidly across\u000athe roadway. We heard a loud knock, a deep voice below, and heavy steps\u000aascending the stair.\u000a\u000a“For Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he said, stepping into the room and handing\u000amy friend the letter.\u000a\u000aHere was an opportunity of taking the conceit out of him. He little\u000athought of this when he made that random shot. “May I ask, my lad,” I\u000asaid, in the blandest voice, “what your trade may be?”\u000a\u000a“Commissionaire, sir,” he said, gruffly. “Uniform away for repairs.”\u000a\u000a“And you were?” I asked, with a slightly malicious glance at my\u000acompanion.\u000a\u000a“A sergeant, sir, Royal Marine Light Infantry, sir. No answer? Right,\u000asir.”\u000a\u000aHe clicked his heels together, raised his hand in a salute, and was\u000agone.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER III. THE LAURISTON GARDEN MYSTERY [6]\u000a\u000a\u000aI CONFESS that I was considerably startled by this fresh proof of the\u000apractical nature of my companion’s theories. My respect for his powers\u000aof analysis increased wondrously. There still remained some lurking\u000asuspicion in my mind, however, that the whole thing was a pre-arranged\u000aepisode, intended to dazzle me, though what earthly object he could have\u000ain taking me in was past my comprehension. When I looked at him he\u000ahad finished reading the note, and his eyes had assumed the vacant,\u000alack-lustre expression which showed mental abstraction.\u000a\u000a“How in the world did you deduce that?” I asked.\u000a\u000a“Deduce what?” said he, petulantly.\u000a\u000a“Why, that he was a retired sergeant of Marines.”\u000a\u000a“I have no time for trifles,” he answered, brusquely; then with a smile,\u000a“Excuse my rudeness. You broke the thread of my thoughts; but perhaps\u000ait is as well. So you actually were not able to see that that man was a\u000asergeant of Marines?”\u000a\u000a“No, indeed.”\u000a\u000a“It was easier to know it than to explain why I knew it. If you\u000awere asked to prove that two and two made four, you might find some\u000adifficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact. Even across the\u000astreet I could see a great blue anchor tattooed on the back of the\u000afellow’s hand. That smacked of the sea. He had a military carriage,\u000ahowever, and regulation side whiskers. There we have the marine. He was\u000aa man with some amount of self-importance and a certain air of command.\u000aYou must have observed the way in which he held his head and swung\u000ahis cane. A steady, respectable, middle-aged man, too, on the face of\u000ahim--all facts which led me to believe that he had been a sergeant.”\u000a\u000a“Wonderful!” I ejaculated.\u000a\u000a“Commonplace,” said Holmes, though I thought from his expression that he\u000awas pleased at my evident surprise and admiration. “I said just now that\u000athere were no criminals. It appears that I am wrong--look at this!” He\u000athrew me over the note which the commissionaire had brought. [7]\u000a\u000a“Why,” I cried, as I cast my eye over it, “this is terrible!”\u000a\u000a“It does seem to be a little out of the common,” he remarked, calmly.\u000a“Would you mind reading it to me aloud?”\u000a\u000aThis is the letter which I read to him----\u000a\u000a\u000a“MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,--\u000a\u000a“There has been a bad business during the night at 3, Lauriston Gardens,\u000aoff the Brixton Road. Our man on the beat saw a light there about two in\u000athe morning, and as the house was an empty one, suspected that something\u000awas amiss. He found the door open, and in the front room, which is bare\u000aof furniture, discovered the body of a gentleman, well dressed, and\u000ahaving cards in his pocket bearing the name of ‘Enoch J. Drebber,\u000aCleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.’ There had been no robbery, nor is there any\u000aevidence as to how the man met his death. There are marks of blood in\u000athe room, but there is no wound upon his person. We are at a loss as to\u000ahow he came into the empty house; indeed, the whole affair is a puzzler.\u000aIf you can come round to the house any time before twelve, you will find\u000ame there. I have left everything _in statu quo_ until I hear from you.\u000aIf you are unable to come I shall give you fuller details, and would\u000aesteem it a great kindness if you would favour me with your opinion.\u000aYours faithfully,\u000a\u000a“TOBIAS GREGSON.”\u000a\u000a\u000a“Gregson is the smartest of the Scotland Yarders,” my friend remarked;\u000a“he and Lestrade are the pick of a bad lot. They are both quick and\u000aenergetic, but conventional--shockingly so. They have their knives\u000ainto one another, too. They are as jealous as a pair of professional\u000abeauties. There will be some fun over this case if they are both put\u000aupon the scent.”\u000a\u000aI was amazed at the calm way in which he rippled on. “Surely there is\u000anot a moment to be lost,” I cried, “shall I go and order you a cab?”\u000a\u000a“I’m not sure about whether I shall go. I am the most incurably lazy\u000adevil that ever stood in shoe leather--that is, when the fit is on me,\u000afor I can be spry enough at times.”\u000a\u000a“Why, it is just such a chance as you have been longing for.”\u000a\u000a“My dear fellow, what does it matter to me. Supposing I unravel the\u000awhole matter, you may be sure that Gregson, Lestrade, and Co. will\u000apocket all the credit. That comes of being an unofficial personage.”\u000a\u000a“But he begs you to help him.”\u000a\u000a“Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and acknowledges it to me; but\u000ahe would cut his tongue out before he would own it to any third person.\u000aHowever, we may as well go and have a look. I shall work it out on my\u000aown hook. I may have a laugh at them if I have nothing else. Come on!”\u000a\u000aHe hustled on his overcoat, and bustled about in a way that showed that\u000aan energetic fit had superseded the apathetic one.\u000a\u000a“Get your hat,” he said.\u000a\u000a“You wish me to come?”\u000a\u000a“Yes, if you have nothing better to do.” A minute later we were both in\u000aa hansom, driving furiously for the Brixton Road.\u000a\u000aIt was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-coloured veil hung over the\u000ahouse-tops, looking like the reflection of the mud-coloured streets\u000abeneath. My companion was in the best of spirits, and prattled away\u000aabout Cremona fiddles, and the difference between a Stradivarius and\u000aan Amati. As for myself, I was silent, for the dull weather and the\u000amelancholy business upon which we were engaged, depressed my spirits.\u000a\u000a“You don’t seem to give much thought to the matter in hand,” I said at\u000alast, interrupting Holmes’ musical disquisition.\u000a\u000a“No data yet,” he answered. “It is a capital mistake to theorize before\u000ayou have all the evidence. It biases the judgment.”\u000a\u000a“You will have your data soon,” I remarked, pointing with my finger;\u000a“this is the Brixton Road, and that is the house, if I am not very much\u000amistaken.”\u000a\u000a“So it is. Stop, driver, stop!” We were still a hundred yards or so from\u000ait, but he insisted upon our alighting, and we finished our journey upon\u000afoot.\u000a\u000aNumber 3, Lauriston Gardens wore an ill-omened and minatory look. It was\u000aone of four which stood back some little way from the street, two being\u000aoccupied and two empty. The latter looked out with three tiers of vacant\u000amelancholy windows, which were blank and dreary, save that here and\u000athere a “To Let” card had developed like a cataract upon the bleared\u000apanes. A small garden sprinkled over with a scattered eruption of sickly\u000aplants separated each of these houses from the street, and was traversed\u000aby a narrow pathway, yellowish in colour, and consisting apparently of a\u000amixture of clay and of gravel. The whole place was very sloppy from the\u000arain which had fallen through the night. The garden was bounded by a\u000athree-foot brick wall with a fringe of wood rails upon the top, and\u000aagainst this wall was leaning a stalwart police constable, surrounded by\u000aa small knot of loafers, who craned their necks and strained their eyes\u000ain the vain hope of catching some glimpse of the proceedings within.\u000a\u000aI had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once have hurried into the\u000ahouse and plunged into a study of the mystery. Nothing appeared to be\u000afurther from his intention. With an air of nonchalance which, under the\u000acircumstances, seemed to me to border upon affectation, he lounged up\u000aand down the pavement, and gazed vacantly at the ground, the sky, the\u000aopposite houses and the line of railings. Having finished his scrutiny,\u000ahe proceeded slowly down the path, or rather down the fringe of grass\u000awhich flanked the path, keeping his eyes riveted upon the ground. Twice\u000ahe stopped, and once I saw him smile, and heard him utter an exclamation\u000aof satisfaction. There were many marks of footsteps upon the wet clayey\u000asoil, but since the police had been coming and going over it, I was\u000aunable to see how my companion could hope to learn anything from it.\u000aStill I had had such extraordinary evidence of the quickness of his\u000aperceptive faculties, that I had no doubt that he could see a great deal\u000awhich was hidden from me.\u000a\u000aAt the door of the house we were met by a tall, white-faced,\u000aflaxen-haired man, with a notebook in his hand, who rushed forward and\u000awrung my companion’s hand with effusion. “It is indeed kind of you to\u000acome,” he said, “I have had everything left untouched.”\u000a\u000a“Except that!” my friend answered, pointing at the pathway. “If a herd\u000aof buffaloes had passed along there could not be a greater mess. No\u000adoubt, however, you had drawn your own conclusions, Gregson, before you\u000apermitted this.”\u000a\u000a“I have had so much to do inside the house,” the detective said\u000aevasively. “My colleague, Mr. Lestrade, is here. I had relied upon him\u000ato look after this.”\u000a\u000aHolmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows sardonically. “With two\u000asuch men as yourself and Lestrade upon the ground, there will not be\u000amuch for a third party to find out,” he said.\u000a\u000aGregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way. “I think we have done\u000aall that can be done,” he answered; “it’s a queer case though, and I\u000aknew your taste for such things.”\u000a\u000a“You did not come here in a cab?” asked Sherlock Holmes.\u000a\u000a“No, sir.”\u000a\u000a“Nor Lestrade?”\u000a\u000a“No, sir.”\u000a\u000a“Then let us go and look at the room.” With which inconsequent remark he\u000astrode on into the house, followed by Gregson, whose features expressed\u000ahis astonishment.\u000a\u000aA short passage, bare planked and dusty, led to the kitchen and offices.\u000aTwo doors opened out of it to the left and to the right. One of these\u000ahad obviously been closed for many weeks. The other belonged to the\u000adining-room, which was the apartment in which the mysterious affair had\u000aoccurred. Holmes walked in, and I followed him with that subdued feeling\u000aat my heart which the presence of death inspires.\u000a\u000aIt was a large square room, looking all the larger from the absence\u000aof all furniture. A vulgar flaring paper adorned the walls, but it was\u000ablotched in places with mildew, and here and there great strips had\u000abecome detached and hung down, exposing the yellow plaster beneath.\u000aOpposite the door was a showy fireplace, surmounted by a mantelpiece of\u000aimitation white marble. On one corner of this was stuck the stump of a\u000ared wax candle. The solitary window was so dirty that the light was\u000ahazy and uncertain, giving a dull grey tinge to everything, which was\u000aintensified by the thick layer of dust which coated the whole apartment.\u000a\u000aAll these details I observed afterwards. At present my attention was\u000acentred upon the single grim motionless figure which lay stretched upon\u000athe boards, with vacant sightless eyes staring up at the discoloured\u000aceiling. It was that of a man about forty-three or forty-four years of\u000aage, middle-sized, broad shouldered, with crisp curling black hair, and\u000aa short stubbly beard. He was dressed in a heavy broadcloth frock coat\u000aand waistcoat, with light-coloured trousers, and immaculate collar\u000aand cuffs. A top hat, well brushed and trim, was placed upon the floor\u000abeside him. His hands were clenched and his arms thrown abroad, while\u000ahis lower limbs were interlocked as though his death struggle had been a\u000agrievous one. On his rigid face there stood an expression of horror,\u000aand as it seemed to me, of hatred, such as I have never seen upon human\u000afeatures. This malignant and terrible contortion, combined with the low\u000aforehead, blunt nose, and prognathous jaw gave the dead man a singularly\u000asimious and ape-like appearance, which was increased by his writhing,\u000aunnatural posture. I have seen death in many forms, but never has\u000ait appeared to me in a more fearsome aspect than in that dark grimy\u000aapartment, which looked out upon one of the main arteries of suburban\u000aLondon.\u000a\u000aLestrade, lean and ferret-like as ever, was standing by the doorway, and\u000agreeted my companion and myself.\u000a\u000a“This case will make a stir, sir,” he remarked. “It beats anything I\u000ahave seen, and I am no chicken.”\u000a\u000a“There is no clue?” said Gregson.\u000a\u000a“None at all,” chimed in Lestrade.\u000a\u000aSherlock Holmes approached the body, and, kneeling down, examined it\u000aintently. “You are sure that there is no wound?” he asked, pointing to\u000anumerous gouts and splashes of blood which lay all round.\u000a\u000a“Positive!” cried both detectives.\u000a\u000a“Then, of course, this blood belongs to a second individual--[8]\u000apresumably the murderer, if murder has been committed. It reminds me of\u000athe circumstances attendant on the death of Van Jansen, in Utrecht, in\u000athe year ‘34. Do you remember the case, Gregson?”\u000a\u000a“No, sir.”\u000a\u000a“Read it up--you really should. There is nothing new under the sun. It\u000ahas all been done before.”\u000a\u000aAs he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying here, there, and everywhere,\u000afeeling, pressing, unbuttoning, examining, while his eyes wore the same\u000afar-away expression which I have already remarked upon. So swiftly was\u000athe examination made, that one would hardly have guessed the minuteness\u000awith which it was conducted. Finally, he sniffed the dead man’s lips,\u000aand then glanced at the soles of his patent leather boots.\u000a\u000a“He has not been moved at all?” he asked.\u000a\u000a“No more than was necessary for the purposes of our examination.”\u000a\u000a“You can take him to the mortuary now,” he said. “There is nothing more\u000ato be learned.”\u000a\u000aGregson had a stretcher and four men at hand. At his call they entered\u000athe room, and the stranger was lifted and carried out. As they raised\u000ahim, a ring tinkled down and rolled across the floor. Lestrade grabbed\u000ait up and stared at it with mystified eyes.\u000a\u000a“There’s been a woman here,” he cried. “It’s a woman’s wedding-ring.”\u000a\u000aHe held it out, as he spoke, upon the palm of his hand. We all gathered\u000around him and gazed at it. There could be no doubt that that circlet of\u000aplain gold had once adorned the finger of a bride.\u000a\u000a“This complicates matters,” said Gregson. “Heaven knows, they were\u000acomplicated enough before.”\u000a\u000a“You’re sure it doesn’t simplify them?” observed Holmes. “There’s\u000anothing to be learned by staring at it. What did you find in his\u000apockets?”\u000a\u000a“We have it all here,” said Gregson, pointing to a litter of objects\u000aupon one of the bottom steps of the stairs. “A gold watch, No. 97163, by\u000aBarraud, of London. Gold Albert chain, very heavy and solid. Gold ring,\u000awith masonic device. Gold pin--bull-dog’s head, with rubies as eyes.\u000aRussian leather card-case, with cards of Enoch J. Drebber of Cleveland,\u000acorresponding with the E. J. D. upon the linen. No purse, but loose\u000amoney to the extent of seven pounds thirteen. Pocket edition of\u000aBoccaccio’s ‘Decameron,’ with name of Joseph Stangerson upon the\u000afly-leaf. Two letters--one addressed to E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph\u000aStangerson.”\u000a\u000a“At what address?”\u000a\u000a“American Exchange, Strand--to be left till called for. They are both\u000afrom the Guion Steamship Company, and refer to the sailing of their\u000aboats from Liverpool. It is clear that this unfortunate man was about to\u000areturn to New York.”\u000a\u000a“Have you made any inquiries as to this man, Stangerson?”\u000a\u000a“I did it at once, sir,” said Gregson. “I have had advertisements\u000asent to all the newspapers, and one of my men has gone to the American\u000aExchange, but he has not returned yet.”\u000a\u000a“Have you sent to Cleveland?”\u000a\u000a“We telegraphed this morning.”\u000a\u000a“How did you word your inquiries?”\u000a\u000a“We simply detailed the circumstances, and said that we should be glad\u000aof any information which could help us.”\u000a\u000a“You did not ask for particulars on any point which appeared to you to\u000abe crucial?”\u000a\u000a“I asked about Stangerson.”\u000a\u000a“Nothing else? Is there no circumstance on which this whole case appears\u000ato hinge? Will you not telegraph again?”\u000a\u000a“I have said all I have to say,” said Gregson, in an offended voice.\u000a\u000aSherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, and appeared to be about to make\u000asome remark, when Lestrade, who had been in the front room while we\u000awere holding this conversation in the hall, reappeared upon the scene,\u000arubbing his hands in a pompous and self-satisfied manner.\u000a\u000a“Mr. Gregson,” he said, “I have just made a discovery of the highest\u000aimportance, and one which would have been overlooked had I not made a\u000acareful examination of the walls.”\u000a\u000aThe little man’s eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he was evidently in\u000aa state of suppressed exultation at having scored a point against his\u000acolleague.\u000a\u000a“Come here,” he said, bustling back into the room, the atmosphere of\u000awhich felt clearer since the removal of its ghastly inmate. “Now, stand\u000athere!”\u000a\u000aHe struck a match on his boot and held it up against the wall.\u000a\u000a“Look at that!” he said, triumphantly.\u000a\u000aI have remarked that the paper had fallen away in parts. In this\u000aparticular corner of the room a large piece had peeled off, leaving a\u000ayellow square of coarse plastering. Across this bare space there was\u000ascrawled in blood-red letters a single word--\u000a\u000a                         RACHE.\u000a\u000a\u000a“What do you think of that?” cried the detective, with the air of a\u000ashowman exhibiting his show. “This was overlooked because it was in the\u000adarkest corner of the room, and no one thought of looking there. The\u000amurderer has written it with his or her own blood. See this smear where\u000ait has trickled down the wall! That disposes of the idea of suicide\u000aanyhow. Why was that corner chosen to write it on? I will tell you. See\u000athat candle on the mantelpiece. It was lit at the time, and if it was\u000alit this corner would be the brightest instead of the darkest portion of\u000athe wall.”\u000a\u000a“And what does it mean now that you _have_ found it?” asked Gregson in a\u000adepreciatory voice.\u000a\u000a“Mean? Why, it means that the writer was going to put the female name\u000aRachel, but was disturbed before he or she had time to finish. You mark\u000amy words, when this case comes to be cleared up you will find that a\u000awoman named Rachel has something to do with it. It’s all very well for\u000ayou to laugh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You may be very smart and clever, but\u000athe old hound is the best, when all is said and done.”\u000a\u000a“I really beg your pardon!” said my companion, who had ruffled the\u000alittle man’s temper by bursting into an explosion of laughter. “You\u000acertainly have the credit of being the first of us to find this out,\u000aand, as you say, it bears every mark of having been written by the other\u000aparticipant in last night’s mystery. I have not had time to examine this\u000aroom yet, but with your permission I shall do so now.”\u000a\u000aAs he spoke, he whipped a tape measure and a large round magnifying\u000aglass from his pocket. With these two implements he trotted noiselessly\u000aabout the room, sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and once\u000alying flat upon his face. So engrossed was he with his occupation that\u000ahe appeared to have forgotten our presence, for he chattered away to\u000ahimself under his breath the whole time, keeping up a running fire\u000aof exclamations, groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive of\u000aencouragement and of hope. As I watched him I was irresistibly reminded\u000aof a pure-blooded well-trained foxhound as it dashes backwards and\u000aforwards through the covert, whining in its eagerness, until it comes\u000aacross the lost scent. For twenty minutes or more he continued his\u000aresearches, measuring with the most exact care the distance between\u000amarks which were entirely invisible to me, and occasionally applying his\u000atape to the walls in an equally incomprehensible manner. In one place\u000ahe gathered up very carefully a little pile of grey dust from the floor,\u000aand packed it away in an envelope. Finally, he examined with his glass\u000athe word upon the wall, going over every letter of it with the most\u000aminute exactness. This done, he appeared to be satisfied, for he\u000areplaced his tape and his glass in his pocket.\u000a\u000a“They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains,” he\u000aremarked with a smile. “It’s a very bad definition, but it does apply to\u000adetective work.”\u000a\u000aGregson and Lestrade had watched the manoeuvres [9] of their amateur\u000acompanion with considerable curiosity and some contempt. They evidently\u000afailed to appreciate the fact, which I had begun to realize, that\u000aSherlock Holmes’ smallest actions were all directed towards some\u000adefinite and practical end.\u000a\u000a“What do you think of it, sir?” they both asked.\u000a\u000a“It would be robbing you of the credit of the case if I was to presume\u000ato help you,” remarked my friend. “You are doing so well now that it\u000awould be a pity for anyone to interfere.” There was a world of\u000asarcasm in his voice as he spoke. “If you will let me know how your\u000ainvestigations go,” he continued, “I shall be happy to give you any help\u000aI can. In the meantime I should like to speak to the constable who found\u000athe body. Can you give me his name and address?”\u000a\u000aLestrade glanced at his note-book. “John Rance,” he said. “He is off\u000aduty now. You will find him at 46, Audley Court, Kennington Park Gate.”\u000a\u000aHolmes took a note of the address.\u000a\u000a“Come along, Doctor,” he said; “we shall go and look him up. I’ll tell\u000ayou one thing which may help you in the case,” he continued, turning to\u000athe two detectives. “There has been murder done, and the murderer was a\u000aman. He was more than six feet high, was in the prime of life, had\u000asmall feet for his height, wore coarse, square-toed boots and smoked a\u000aTrichinopoly cigar. He came here with his victim in a four-wheeled cab,\u000awhich was drawn by a horse with three old shoes and one new one on his\u000aoff fore leg. In all probability the murderer had a florid face, and the\u000afinger-nails of his right hand were remarkably long. These are only a\u000afew indications, but they may assist you.”\u000a\u000aLestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an incredulous smile.\u000a\u000a“If this man was murdered, how was it done?” asked the former.\u000a\u000a“Poison,” said Sherlock Holmes curtly, and strode off. “One other thing,\u000aLestrade,” he added, turning round at the door: “‘Rache,’ is the German\u000afor ‘revenge;’ so don’t lose your time looking for Miss Rachel.”\u000a\u000aWith which Parthian shot he walked away, leaving the two rivals\u000aopen-mouthed behind him.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER IV. WHAT JOHN RANCE HAD TO TELL.\u000a\u000a\u000aIT was one o’clock when we left No. 3, Lauriston Gardens. Sherlock\u000aHolmes led me to the nearest telegraph office, whence he dispatched a\u000along telegram. He then hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to take us\u000ato the address given us by Lestrade.\u000a\u000a“There is nothing like first hand evidence,” he remarked; “as a matter\u000aof fact, my mind is entirely made up upon the case, but still we may as\u000awell learn all that is to be learned.”\u000a\u000a“You amaze me, Holmes,” said I. “Surely you are not as sure as you\u000apretend to be of all those particulars which you gave.”\u000a\u000a“There’s no room for a mistake,” he answered. “The very first thing\u000awhich I observed on arriving there was that a cab had made two ruts with\u000aits wheels close to the curb. Now, up to last night, we have had no rain\u000afor a week, so that those wheels which left such a deep impression must\u000ahave been there during the night. There were the marks of the horse’s\u000ahoofs, too, the outline of one of which was far more clearly cut than\u000athat of the other three, showing that that was a new shoe. Since the cab\u000awas there after the rain began, and was not there at any time during the\u000amorning--I have Gregson’s word for that--it follows that it must have\u000abeen there during the night, and, therefore, that it brought those two\u000aindividuals to the house.”\u000a\u000a“That seems simple enough,” said I; “but how about the other man’s\u000aheight?”\u000a\u000a“Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten, can be told from\u000athe length of his stride. It is a simple calculation enough, though\u000athere is no use my boring you with figures. I had this fellow’s stride\u000aboth on the clay outside and on the dust within. Then I had a way of\u000achecking my calculation. When a man writes on a wall, his instinct leads\u000ahim to write about the level of his own eyes. Now that writing was just\u000aover six feet from the ground. It was child’s play.”\u000a\u000a“And his age?” I asked.\u000a\u000a“Well, if a man can stride four and a-half feet without the smallest\u000aeffort, he can’t be quite in the sere and yellow. That was the breadth\u000aof a puddle on the garden walk which he had evidently walked across.\u000aPatent-leather boots had gone round, and Square-toes had hopped over.\u000aThere is no mystery about it at all. I am simply applying to ordinary\u000alife a few of those precepts of observation and deduction which I\u000aadvocated in that article. Is there anything else that puzzles you?”\u000a\u000a“The finger nails and the Trichinopoly,” I suggested.\u000a\u000a“The writing on the wall was done with a man’s forefinger dipped in\u000ablood. My glass allowed me to observe that the plaster was slightly\u000ascratched in doing it, which would not have been the case if the man’s\u000anail had been trimmed. I gathered up some scattered ash from the floor.\u000aIt was dark in colour and flakey--such an ash as is only made by a\u000aTrichinopoly. I have made a special study of cigar ashes--in fact, I\u000ahave written a monograph upon the subject. I flatter myself that I can\u000adistinguish at a glance the ash of any known brand, either of cigar\u000aor of tobacco. It is just in such details that the skilled detective\u000adiffers from the Gregson and Lestrade type.”\u000a\u000a“And the florid face?” I asked.\u000a\u000a“Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I have no doubt that I was\u000aright. You must not ask me that at the present state of the affair.”\u000a\u000aI passed my hand over my brow. “My head is in a whirl,” I remarked; “the\u000amore one thinks of it the more mysterious it grows. How came these two\u000amen--if there were two men--into an empty house? What has become of the\u000acabman who drove them? How could one man compel another to take poison?\u000aWhere did the blood come from? What was the object of the murderer,\u000asince robbery had no part in it? How came the woman’s ring there? Above\u000aall, why should the second man write up the German word RACHE before\u000adecamping? I confess that I cannot see any possible way of reconciling\u000aall these facts.”\u000a\u000aMy companion smiled approvingly.\u000a\u000a“You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly and well,” he\u000asaid. “There is much that is still obscure, though I have quite made up\u000amy mind on the main facts. As to poor Lestrade’s discovery it was simply\u000aa blind intended to put the police upon a wrong track, by suggesting\u000aSocialism and secret societies. It was not done by a German. The A, if\u000ayou noticed, was printed somewhat after the German fashion. Now, a real\u000aGerman invariably prints in the Latin character, so that we may safely\u000asay that this was not written by one, but by a clumsy imitator who\u000aoverdid his part. It was simply a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong\u000achannel. I’m not going to tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You\u000aknow a conjuror gets no credit when once he has explained his trick,\u000aand if I show you too much of my method of working, you will come to the\u000aconclusion that I am a very ordinary individual after all.”\u000a\u000a“I shall never do that,” I answered; “you have brought detection as near\u000aan exact science as it ever will be brought in this world.”\u000a\u000aMy companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest way\u000ain which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was as sensitive\u000ato flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty.\u000a\u000a“I’ll tell you one other thing,” he said. “Patent leathers [10] and\u000aSquare-toes came in the same cab, and they walked down the pathway\u000atogether as friendly as possible--arm-in-arm, in all probability.\u000aWhen they got inside they walked up and down the room--or rather,\u000aPatent-leathers stood still while Square-toes walked up and down. I\u000acould read all that in the dust; and I could read that as he walked he\u000agrew more and more excited. That is shown by the increased length of his\u000astrides. He was talking all the while, and working himself up, no doubt,\u000ainto a fury. Then the tragedy occurred. I’ve told you all I know myself\u000anow, for the rest is mere surmise and conjecture. We have a good working\u000abasis, however, on which to start. We must hurry up, for I want to go to\u000aHalle’s concert to hear Norman Neruda this afternoon.”\u000a\u000aThis conversation had occurred while our cab had been threading its way\u000athrough a long succession of dingy streets and dreary by-ways. In the\u000adingiest and dreariest of them our driver suddenly came to a stand.\u000a“That’s Audley Court in there,” he said, pointing to a narrow slit in\u000athe line of dead-coloured brick. “You’ll find me here when you come\u000aback.”\u000a\u000aAudley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow passage led us\u000ainto a quadrangle paved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings. We\u000apicked our way among groups of dirty children, and through lines of\u000adiscoloured linen, until we came to Number 46, the door of which\u000awas decorated with a small slip of brass on which the name Rance was\u000aengraved. On enquiry we found that the constable was in bed, and we were\u000ashown into a little front parlour to await his coming.\u000a\u000aHe appeared presently, looking a little irritable at being disturbed in\u000ahis slumbers. “I made my report at the office,” he said.\u000a\u000aHolmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with it\u000apensively. “We thought that we should like to hear it all from your own\u000alips,” he said.\u000a\u000a“I shall be most happy to tell you anything I can,” the constable\u000aanswered with his eyes upon the little golden disk.\u000a\u000a“Just let us hear it all in your own way as it occurred.”\u000a\u000aRance sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knitted his brows as though\u000adetermined not to omit anything in his narrative.\u000a\u000a“I’ll tell it ye from the beginning,” he said. “My time is from ten at\u000anight to six in the morning. At eleven there was a fight at the ‘White\u000aHart’; but bar that all was quiet enough on the beat. At one o’clock it\u000abegan to rain, and I met Harry Murcher--him who has the Holland Grove\u000abeat--and we stood together at the corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin’.\u000aPresently--maybe about two or a little after--I thought I would take\u000aa look round and see that all was right down the Brixton Road. It was\u000aprecious dirty and lonely. Not a soul did I meet all the way down,\u000athough a cab or two went past me. I was a strollin’ down, thinkin’\u000abetween ourselves how uncommon handy a four of gin hot would be, when\u000asuddenly the glint of a light caught my eye in the window of that same\u000ahouse. Now, I knew that them two houses in Lauriston Gardens was empty\u000aon account of him that owns them who won’t have the drains seen to,\u000athough the very last tenant what lived in one of them died o’ typhoid\u000afever. I was knocked all in a heap therefore at seeing a light in\u000athe window, and I suspected as something was wrong. When I got to the\u000adoor----”\u000a\u000a“You stopped, and then walked back to the garden gate,” my companion\u000ainterrupted. “What did you do that for?”\u000a\u000aRance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sherlock Holmes with the utmost\u000aamazement upon his features.\u000a\u000a“Why, that’s true, sir,” he said; “though how you come to know it,\u000aHeaven only knows. Ye see, when I got up to the door it was so still and\u000aso lonesome, that I thought I’d be none the worse for some one with me.\u000aI ain’t afeared of anything on this side o’ the grave; but I thought\u000athat maybe it was him that died o’ the typhoid inspecting the drains\u000awhat killed him. The thought gave me a kind o’ turn, and I walked back\u000ato the gate to see if I could see Murcher’s lantern, but there wasn’t no\u000asign of him nor of anyone else.”\u000a\u000a“There was no one in the street?”\u000a\u000a“Not a livin’ soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then I pulled myself\u000atogether and went back and pushed the door open. All was quiet inside,\u000aso I went into the room where the light was a-burnin’. There was a\u000acandle flickerin’ on the mantelpiece--a red wax one--and by its light I\u000asaw----”\u000a\u000a“Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round the room several times,\u000aand you knelt down by the body, and then you walked through and tried\u000athe kitchen door, and then----”\u000a\u000aJohn Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and suspicion in\u000ahis eyes. “Where was you hid to see all that?” he cried. “It seems to me\u000athat you knows a deal more than you should.”\u000a\u000aHolmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the constable.\u000a“Don’t get arresting me for the murder,” he said. “I am one of the\u000ahounds and not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestrade will answer for\u000athat. Go on, though. What did you do next?”\u000a\u000aRance resumed his seat, without however losing his mystified expression.\u000a“I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. That brought Murcher\u000aand two more to the spot.”\u000a\u000a“Was the street empty then?”\u000a\u000a“Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good goes.”\u000a\u000a“What do you mean?”\u000a\u000aThe constable’s features broadened into a grin. “I’ve seen many a drunk\u000achap in my time,” he said, “but never anyone so cryin’ drunk as\u000athat cove. He was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin’ up agin the\u000arailings, and a-singin’ at the pitch o’ his lungs about Columbine’s\u000aNew-fangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldn’t stand, far less\u000ahelp.”\u000a\u000a“What sort of a man was he?” asked Sherlock Holmes.\u000a\u000aJohn Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression. “He was\u000aan uncommon drunk sort o’ man,” he said. “He’d ha’ found hisself in the\u000astation if we hadn’t been so took up.”\u000a\u000a“His face--his dress--didn’t you notice them?” Holmes broke in\u000aimpatiently.\u000a\u000a“I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop him up--me\u000aand Murcher between us. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lower\u000apart muffled round----”\u000a\u000a“That will do,” cried Holmes. “What became of him?”\u000a\u000a“We’d enough to do without lookin’ after him,” the policeman said, in an\u000aaggrieved voice. “I’ll wager he found his way home all right.”\u000a\u000a“How was he dressed?”\u000a\u000a“A brown overcoat.”\u000a\u000a“Had he a whip in his hand?”\u000a\u000a“A whip--no.”\u000a\u000a“He must have left it behind,” muttered my companion. “You didn’t happen\u000ato see or hear a cab after that?”\u000a\u000a“No.”\u000a\u000a“There’s a half-sovereign for you,” my companion said, standing up and\u000ataking his hat. “I am afraid, Rance, that you will never rise in the\u000aforce. That head of yours should be for use as well as ornament. You\u000amight have gained your sergeant’s stripes last night. The man whom you\u000aheld in your hands is the man who holds the clue of this mystery, and\u000awhom we are seeking. There is no use of arguing about it now; I tell you\u000athat it is so. Come along, Doctor.”\u000a\u000aWe started off for the cab together, leaving our informant incredulous,\u000abut obviously uncomfortable.\u000a\u000a“The blundering fool,” Holmes said, bitterly, as we drove back to our\u000alodgings. “Just to think of his having such an incomparable bit of good\u000aluck, and not taking advantage of it.”\u000a\u000a“I am rather in the dark still. It is true that the description of this\u000aman tallies with your idea of the second party in this mystery. But why\u000ashould he come back to the house after leaving it? That is not the way\u000aof criminals.”\u000a\u000a“The ring, man, the ring: that was what he came back for. If we have no\u000aother way of catching him, we can always bait our line with the ring. I\u000ashall have him, Doctor--I’ll lay you two to one that I have him. I must\u000athank you for it all. I might not have gone but for you, and so have\u000amissed the finest study I ever came across: a study in scarlet, eh?\u000aWhy shouldn’t we use a little art jargon. There’s the scarlet thread of\u000amurder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is\u000ato unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it. And now\u000afor lunch, and then for Norman Neruda. Her attack and her bowing\u000aare splendid. What’s that little thing of Chopin’s she plays so\u000amagnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay.”\u000a\u000aLeaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled away like a\u000alark while I meditated upon the many-sidedness of the human mind.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER V. OUR ADVERTISEMENT BRINGS A VISITOR.\u000a\u000a\u000aOUR morning’s exertions had been too much for my weak health, and I was\u000atired out in the afternoon. After Holmes’ departure for the concert, I\u000alay down upon the sofa and endeavoured to get a couple of hours’ sleep.\u000aIt was a useless attempt. My mind had been too much excited by all that\u000ahad occurred, and the strangest fancies and surmises crowded into\u000ait. Every time that I closed my eyes I saw before me the distorted\u000ababoon-like countenance of the murdered man. So sinister was the\u000aimpression which that face had produced upon me that I found it\u000adifficult to feel anything but gratitude for him who had removed its\u000aowner from the world. If ever human features bespoke vice of the most\u000amalignant type, they were certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of\u000aCleveland. Still I recognized that justice must be done, and that the\u000adepravity of the victim was no condonment [11] in the eyes of the law.\u000a\u000aThe more I thought of it the more extraordinary did my companion’s\u000ahypothesis, that the man had been poisoned, appear. I remembered how he\u000ahad sniffed his lips, and had no doubt that he had detected something\u000awhich had given rise to the idea. Then, again, if not poison, what\u000ahad caused the man’s death, since there was neither wound nor marks of\u000astrangulation? But, on the other hand, whose blood was that which lay so\u000athickly upon the floor? There were no signs of a struggle, nor had the\u000avictim any weapon with which he might have wounded an antagonist. As\u000along as all these questions were unsolved, I felt that sleep would be\u000ano easy matter, either for Holmes or myself. His quiet self-confident\u000amanner convinced me that he had already formed a theory which explained\u000aall the facts, though what it was I could not for an instant conjecture.\u000a\u000aHe was very late in returning--so late, that I knew that the concert\u000acould not have detained him all the time. Dinner was on the table before\u000ahe appeared.\u000a\u000a“It was magnificent,” he said, as he took his seat. “Do you remember\u000awhat Darwin says about music? He claims that the power of producing and\u000aappreciating it existed among the human race long before the power of\u000aspeech was arrived at. Perhaps that is why we are so subtly influenced\u000aby it. There are vague memories in our souls of those misty centuries\u000awhen the world was in its childhood.”\u000a\u000a“That’s rather a broad idea,” I remarked.\u000a\u000a“One’s ideas must be as broad as Nature if they are to interpret\u000aNature,” he answered. “What’s the matter? You’re not looking quite\u000ayourself. This Brixton Road affair has upset you.”\u000a\u000a“To tell the truth, it has,” I said. “I ought to be more case-hardened\u000aafter my Afghan experiences. I saw my own comrades hacked to pieces at\u000aMaiwand without losing my nerve.”\u000a\u000a“I can understand. There is a mystery about this which stimulates the\u000aimagination; where there is no imagination there is no horror. Have you\u000aseen the evening paper?”\u000a\u000a“No.”\u000a\u000a“It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It does not mention the\u000afact that when the man was raised up, a woman’s wedding ring fell upon\u000athe floor. It is just as well it does not.”\u000a\u000a“Why?”\u000a\u000a“Look at this advertisement,” he answered. “I had one sent to every\u000apaper this morning immediately after the affair.”\u000a\u000aHe threw the paper across to me and I glanced at the place indicated. It\u000awas the first announcement in the “Found” column. “In Brixton Road,\u000athis morning,” it ran, “a plain gold wedding ring, found in the roadway\u000abetween the ‘White Hart’ Tavern and Holland Grove. Apply Dr. Watson,\u000a221B, Baker Street, between eight and nine this evening.”\u000a\u000a“Excuse my using your name,” he said. “If I used my own some of these\u000adunderheads would recognize it, and want to meddle in the affair.”\u000a\u000a“That is all right,” I answered. “But supposing anyone applies, I have\u000ano ring.”\u000a\u000a“Oh yes, you have,” said he, handing me one. “This will do very well. It\u000ais almost a facsimile.”\u000a\u000a“And who do you expect will answer this advertisement.”\u000a\u000a“Why, the man in the brown coat--our florid friend with the square toes.\u000aIf he does not come himself he will send an accomplice.”\u000a\u000a“Would he not consider it as too dangerous?”\u000a\u000a“Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, and I have every reason\u000ato believe that it is, this man would rather risk anything than lose the\u000aring. According to my notion he dropped it while stooping over Drebber’s\u000abody, and did not miss it at the time. After leaving the house he\u000adiscovered his loss and hurried back, but found the police already in\u000apossession, owing to his own folly in leaving the candle burning. He had\u000ato pretend to be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might have\u000abeen aroused by his appearance at the gate. Now put yourself in that\u000aman’s place. On thinking the matter over, it must have occurred to him\u000athat it was possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leaving\u000athe house. What would he do, then? He would eagerly look out for the\u000aevening papers in the hope of seeing it among the articles found. His\u000aeye, of course, would light upon this. He would be overjoyed. Why should\u000ahe fear a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why the finding\u000aof the ring should be connected with the murder. He would come. He will\u000acome. You shall see him within an hour?”\u000a\u000a“And then?” I asked.\u000a\u000a“Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. Have you any arms?”\u000a\u000a“I have my old service revolver and a few cartridges.”\u000a\u000a“You had better clean it and load it. He will be a desperate man,\u000aand though I shall take him unawares, it is as well to be ready for\u000aanything.”\u000a\u000aI went to my bedroom and followed his advice. When I returned with\u000athe pistol the table had been cleared, and Holmes was engaged in his\u000afavourite occupation of scraping upon his violin.\u000a\u000a“The plot thickens,” he said, as I entered; “I have just had an answer\u000ato my American telegram. My view of the case is the correct one.”\u000a\u000a“And that is?” I asked eagerly.\u000a\u000a“My fiddle would be the better for new strings,” he remarked. “Put your\u000apistol in your pocket. When the fellow comes speak to him in an ordinary\u000away. Leave the rest to me. Don’t frighten him by looking at him too\u000ahard.”\u000a\u000a“It is eight o’clock now,” I said, glancing at my watch.\u000a\u000a“Yes. He will probably be here in a few minutes. Open the door slightly.\u000aThat will do. Now put the key on the inside. Thank you! This is a\u000aqueer old book I picked up at a stall yesterday--‘De Jure inter\u000aGentes’--published in Latin at Liege in the Lowlands, in 1642. Charles’\u000ahead was still firm on his shoulders when this little brown-backed\u000avolume was struck off.”\u000a\u000a“Who is the printer?”\u000a\u000a“Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been. On the fly-leaf, in very\u000afaded ink, is written ‘Ex libris Guliolmi Whyte.’ I wonder who William\u000aWhyte was. Some pragmatical seventeenth century lawyer, I suppose. His\u000awriting has a legal twist about it. Here comes our man, I think.”\u000a\u000aAs he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sherlock Holmes rose\u000asoftly and moved his chair in the direction of the door. We heard the\u000aservant pass along the hall, and the sharp click of the latch as she\u000aopened it.\u000a\u000a“Does Dr. Watson live here?” asked a clear but rather harsh voice. We\u000acould not hear the servant’s reply, but the door closed, and some one\u000abegan to ascend the stairs. The footfall was an uncertain and shuffling\u000aone. A look of surprise passed over the face of my companion as he\u000alistened to it. It came slowly along the passage, and there was a feeble\u000atap at the door.\u000a\u000a“Come in,” I cried.\u000a\u000aAt my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected, a very\u000aold and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment. She appeared to be\u000adazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and after dropping a curtsey, she\u000astood blinking at us with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocket\u000awith nervous, shaky fingers. I glanced at my companion, and his face\u000ahad assumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could do to\u000akeep my countenance.\u000a\u000aThe old crone drew out an evening paper, and pointed at our\u000aadvertisement. “It’s this as has brought me, good gentlemen,” she said,\u000adropping another curtsey; “a gold wedding ring in the Brixton Road. It\u000abelongs to my girl Sally, as was married only this time twelvemonth,\u000awhich her husband is steward aboard a Union boat, and what he’d say if\u000ahe come ‘ome and found her without her ring is more than I can think, he\u000abeing short enough at the best o’ times, but more especially when he\u000ahas the drink. If it please you, she went to the circus last night along\u000awith----”\u000a\u000a“Is that her ring?” I asked.\u000a\u000a“The Lord be thanked!” cried the old woman; “Sally will be a glad woman\u000athis night. That’s the ring.”\u000a\u000a“And what may your address be?” I inquired, taking up a pencil.\u000a\u000a“13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary way from here.”\u000a\u000a“The Brixton Road does not lie between any circus and Houndsditch,” said\u000aSherlock Holmes sharply.\u000a\u000aThe old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her little\u000ared-rimmed eyes. “The gentleman asked me for _my_ address,” she said.\u000a“Sally lives in lodgings at 3, Mayfield Place, Peckham.”\u000a\u000a“And your name is----?”\u000a\u000a“My name is Sawyer--her’s is Dennis, which Tom Dennis married her--and\u000aa smart, clean lad, too, as long as he’s at sea, and no steward in the\u000acompany more thought of; but when on shore, what with the women and what\u000awith liquor shops----”\u000a\u000a“Here is your ring, Mrs. Sawyer,” I interrupted, in obedience to a sign\u000afrom my companion; “it clearly belongs to your daughter, and I am glad\u000ato be able to restore it to the rightful owner.”\u000a\u000aWith many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude the old crone\u000apacked it away in her pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs. Sherlock\u000aHolmes sprang to his feet the moment that she was gone and rushed into\u000ahis room. He returned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulster and\u000aa cravat. “I’ll follow her,” he said, hurriedly; “she must be an\u000aaccomplice, and will lead me to him. Wait up for me.” The hall door had\u000ahardly slammed behind our visitor before Holmes had descended the stair.\u000aLooking through the window I could see her walking feebly along the\u000aother side, while her pursuer dogged her some little distance behind.\u000a“Either his whole theory is incorrect,” I thought to myself, “or else he\u000awill be led now to the heart of the mystery.” There was no need for him\u000ato ask me to wait up for him, for I felt that sleep was impossible until\u000aI heard the result of his adventure.\u000a\u000aIt was close upon nine when he set out. I had no idea how long he might\u000abe, but I sat stolidly puffing at my pipe and skipping over the pages\u000aof Henri Murger’s “Vie de Bohème.” Ten o’clock passed, and I heard the\u000afootsteps of the maid as they pattered off to bed. Eleven, and the\u000amore stately tread of the landlady passed my door, bound for the same\u000adestination. It was close upon twelve before I heard the sharp sound of\u000ahis latch-key. The instant he entered I saw by his face that he had not\u000abeen successful. Amusement and chagrin seemed to be struggling for the\u000amastery, until the former suddenly carried the day, and he burst into a\u000ahearty laugh.\u000a\u000a“I wouldn’t have the Scotland Yarders know it for the world,” he cried,\u000adropping into his chair; “I have chaffed them so much that they would\u000anever have let me hear the end of it. I can afford to laugh, because I\u000aknow that I will be even with them in the long run.”\u000a\u000a“What is it then?” I asked.\u000a\u000a“Oh, I don’t mind telling a story against myself. That creature had\u000agone a little way when she began to limp and show every sign of being\u000afoot-sore. Presently she came to a halt, and hailed a four-wheeler which\u000awas passing. I managed to be close to her so as to hear the address, but\u000aI need not have been so anxious, for she sang it out loud enough to\u000abe heard at the other side of the street, ‘Drive to 13, Duncan Street,\u000aHoundsditch,’ she cried. This begins to look genuine, I thought, and\u000ahaving seen her safely inside, I perched myself behind. That’s an art\u000awhich every detective should be an expert at. Well, away we rattled, and\u000anever drew rein until we reached the street in question. I hopped off\u000abefore we came to the door, and strolled down the street in an easy,\u000alounging way. I saw the cab pull up. The driver jumped down, and I saw\u000ahim open the door and stand expectantly. Nothing came out though. When\u000aI reached him he was groping about frantically in the empty cab, and\u000agiving vent to the finest assorted collection of oaths that ever I\u000alistened to. There was no sign or trace of his passenger, and I fear it\u000awill be some time before he gets his fare. On inquiring at Number 13\u000awe found that the house belonged to a respectable paperhanger, named\u000aKeswick, and that no one of the name either of Sawyer or Dennis had ever\u000abeen heard of there.”\u000a\u000a“You don’t mean to say,” I cried, in amazement, “that that tottering,\u000afeeble old woman was able to get out of the cab while it was in motion,\u000awithout either you or the driver seeing her?”\u000a\u000a“Old woman be damned!” said Sherlock Holmes, sharply. “We were the old\u000awomen to be so taken in. It must have been a young man, and an\u000aactive one, too, besides being an incomparable actor. The get-up was\u000ainimitable. He saw that he was followed, no doubt, and used this means\u000aof giving me the slip. It shows that the man we are after is not as\u000alonely as I imagined he was, but has friends who are ready to risk\u000asomething for him. Now, Doctor, you are looking done-up. Take my advice\u000aand turn in.”\u000a\u000aI was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed his injunction. I\u000aleft Holmes seated in front of the smouldering fire, and long into the\u000awatches of the night I heard the low, melancholy wailings of his violin,\u000aand knew that he was still pondering over the strange problem which he\u000ahad set himself to unravel.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER VI. TOBIAS GREGSON SHOWS WHAT HE CAN DO.\u000a\u000a\u000aTHE papers next day were full of the “Brixton Mystery,” as they termed\u000ait. Each had a long account of the affair, and some had leaders upon it\u000ain addition. There was some information in them which was new to me. I\u000astill retain in my scrap-book numerous clippings and extracts bearing\u000aupon the case. Here is a condensation of a few of them:--\u000a\u000aThe _Daily Telegraph_ remarked that in the history of crime there had\u000aseldom been a tragedy which presented stranger features. The German\u000aname of the victim, the absence of all other motive, and the sinister\u000ainscription on the wall, all pointed to its perpetration by political\u000arefugees and revolutionists. The Socialists had many branches in\u000aAmerica, and the deceased had, no doubt, infringed their unwritten laws,\u000aand been tracked down by them. After alluding airily to the Vehmgericht,\u000aaqua tofana, Carbonari, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, the Darwinian\u000atheory, the principles of Malthus, and the Ratcliff Highway murders, the\u000aarticle concluded by admonishing the Government and advocating a closer\u000awatch over foreigners in England.\u000a\u000aThe _Standard_ commented upon the fact that lawless outrages of the sort\u000ausually occurred under a Liberal Administration. They arose from the\u000aunsettling of the minds of the masses, and the consequent weakening\u000aof all authority. The deceased was an American gentleman who had\u000abeen residing for some weeks in the Metropolis. He had stayed at the\u000aboarding-house of Madame Charpentier, in Torquay Terrace, Camberwell.\u000aHe was accompanied in his travels by his private secretary, Mr. Joseph\u000aStangerson. The two bade adieu to their landlady upon Tuesday, the\u000a4th inst., and departed to Euston Station with the avowed intention of\u000acatching the Liverpool express. They were afterwards seen together upon\u000athe platform. Nothing more is known of them until Mr. Drebber’s body\u000awas, as recorded, discovered in an empty house in the Brixton Road,\u000amany miles from Euston. How he came there, or how he met his fate, are\u000aquestions which are still involved in mystery. Nothing is known of the\u000awhereabouts of Stangerson. We are glad to learn that Mr. Lestrade and\u000aMr. Gregson, of Scotland Yard, are both engaged upon the case, and it\u000ais confidently anticipated that these well-known officers will speedily\u000athrow light upon the matter.\u000a\u000aThe _Daily News_ observed that there was no doubt as to the crime being\u000aa political one. The despotism and hatred of Liberalism which animated\u000athe Continental Governments had had the effect of driving to our shores\u000aa number of men who might have made excellent citizens were they not\u000asoured by the recollection of all that they had undergone. Among these\u000amen there was a stringent code of honour, any infringement of which was\u000apunished by death. Every effort should be made to find the secretary,\u000aStangerson, and to ascertain some particulars of the habits of the\u000adeceased. A great step had been gained by the discovery of the address\u000aof the house at which he had boarded--a result which was entirely due to\u000athe acuteness and energy of Mr. Gregson of Scotland Yard.\u000a\u000aSherlock Holmes and I read these notices over together at breakfast, and\u000athey appeared to afford him considerable amusement.\u000a\u000a“I told you that, whatever happened, Lestrade and Gregson would be sure\u000ato score.”\u000a\u000a“That depends on how it turns out.”\u000a\u000a“Oh, bless you, it doesn’t matter in the least. If the man is caught, it\u000awill be _on account_ of their exertions; if he escapes, it will be _in\u000aspite_ of their exertions. It’s heads I win and tails you lose. Whatever\u000athey do, they will have followers. ‘Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot\u000aqui l’admire.’”\u000a\u000a“What on earth is this?” I cried, for at this moment there came the\u000apattering of many steps in the hall and on the stairs, accompanied by\u000aaudible expressions of disgust upon the part of our landlady.\u000a\u000a“It’s the Baker Street division of the detective police force,” said my\u000acompanion, gravely; and as he spoke there rushed into the room half a\u000adozen of the dirtiest and most ragged street Arabs that ever I clapped\u000aeyes on.\u000a\u000a“‘Tention!” cried Holmes, in a sharp tone, and the six dirty little\u000ascoundrels stood in a line like so many disreputable statuettes. “In\u000afuture you shall send up Wiggins alone to report, and the rest of you\u000amust wait in the street. Have you found it, Wiggins?”\u000a\u000a“No, sir, we hain’t,” said one of the youths.\u000a\u000a“I hardly expected you would. You must keep on until you do. Here are\u000ayour wages.” [13] He handed each of them a shilling.\u000a\u000a“Now, off you go, and come back with a better report next time.”\u000a\u000aHe waved his hand, and they scampered away downstairs like so many rats,\u000aand we heard their shrill voices next moment in the street.\u000a\u000a“There’s more work to be got out of one of those little beggars than\u000aout of a dozen of the force,” Holmes remarked. “The mere sight of an\u000aofficial-looking person seals men’s lips. These youngsters, however, go\u000aeverywhere and hear everything. They are as sharp as needles, too; all\u000athey want is organisation.”\u000a\u000a“Is it on this Brixton case that you are employing them?” I asked.\u000a\u000a“Yes; there is a point which I wish to ascertain. It is merely a matter\u000aof time. Hullo! we are going to hear some news now with a vengeance!\u000aHere is Gregson coming down the road with beatitude written upon every\u000afeature of his face. Bound for us, I know. Yes, he is stopping. There he\u000ais!”\u000a\u000aThere was a violent peal at the bell, and in a few seconds the\u000afair-haired detective came up the stairs, three steps at a time, and\u000aburst into our sitting-room.\u000a\u000a“My dear fellow,” he cried, wringing Holmes’ unresponsive hand,\u000a“congratulate me! I have made the whole thing as clear as day.”\u000a\u000aA shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my companion’s expressive face.\u000a\u000a“Do you mean that you are on the right track?” he asked.\u000a\u000a“The right track! Why, sir, we have the man under lock and key.”\u000a\u000a“And his name is?”\u000a\u000a“Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her Majesty’s navy,” cried\u000aGregson, pompously, rubbing his fat hands and inflating his chest.\u000a\u000aSherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief, and relaxed into a smile.\u000a\u000a“Take a seat, and try one of these cigars,” he said. “We are anxious to\u000aknow how you managed it. Will you have some whiskey and water?”\u000a\u000a“I don’t mind if I do,” the detective answered. “The tremendous\u000aexertions which I have gone through during the last day or two have worn\u000ame out. Not so much bodily exertion, you understand, as the strain upon\u000athe mind. You will appreciate that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for we are both\u000abrain-workers.”\u000a\u000a“You do me too much honour,” said Holmes, gravely. “Let us hear how you\u000aarrived at this most gratifying result.”\u000a\u000aThe detective seated himself in the arm-chair, and puffed complacently\u000aat his cigar. Then suddenly he slapped his thigh in a paroxysm of\u000aamusement.\u000a\u000a“The fun of it is,” he cried, “that that fool Lestrade, who thinks\u000ahimself so smart, has gone off upon the wrong track altogether. He is\u000aafter the secretary Stangerson, who had no more to do with the crime\u000athan the babe unborn. I have no doubt that he has caught him by this\u000atime.”\u000a\u000aThe idea tickled Gregson so much that he laughed until he choked.\u000a\u000a“And how did you get your clue?”\u000a\u000a“Ah, I’ll tell you all about it. Of course, Doctor Watson, this is\u000astrictly between ourselves. The first difficulty which we had to contend\u000awith was the finding of this American’s antecedents. Some people would\u000ahave waited until their advertisements were answered, or until parties\u000acame forward and volunteered information. That is not Tobias Gregson’s\u000away of going to work. You remember the hat beside the dead man?”\u000a\u000a“Yes,” said Holmes; “by John Underwood and Sons, 129, Camberwell Road.”\u000a\u000aGregson looked quite crest-fallen.\u000a\u000a“I had no idea that you noticed that,” he said. “Have you been there?”\u000a\u000a“No.”\u000a\u000a“Ha!” cried Gregson, in a relieved voice; “you should never neglect a\u000achance, however small it may seem.”\u000a\u000a“To a great mind, nothing is little,” remarked Holmes, sententiously.\u000a\u000a“Well, I went to Underwood, and asked him if he had sold a hat of that\u000asize and description. He looked over his books, and came on it at once.\u000aHe had sent the hat to a Mr. Drebber, residing at Charpentier’s Boarding\u000aEstablishment, Torquay Terrace. Thus I got at his address.”\u000a\u000a“Smart--very smart!” murmured Sherlock Holmes.\u000a\u000a“I next called upon Madame Charpentier,” continued the detective.\u000a“I found her very pale and distressed. Her daughter was in the room,\u000atoo--an uncommonly fine girl she is, too; she was looking red about\u000athe eyes and her lips trembled as I spoke to her. That didn’t escape\u000amy notice. I began to smell a rat. You know the feeling, Mr. Sherlock\u000aHolmes, when you come upon the right scent--a kind of thrill in your\u000anerves. ‘Have you heard of the mysterious death of your late boarder Mr.\u000aEnoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland?’ I asked.\u000a\u000a“The mother nodded. She didn’t seem able to get out a word. The daughter\u000aburst into tears. I felt more than ever that these people knew something\u000aof the matter.\u000a\u000a“‘At what o’clock did Mr. Drebber leave your house for the train?’ I\u000aasked.\u000a\u000a“‘At eight o’clock,’ she said, gulping in her throat to keep down her\u000aagitation. ‘His secretary, Mr. Stangerson, said that there were two\u000atrains--one at 9.15 and one at 11. He was to catch the first. [14]\u000a\u000a“‘And was that the last which you saw of him?’\u000a\u000a“A terrible change came over the woman’s face as I asked the question.\u000aHer features turned perfectly livid. It was some seconds before she\u000acould get out the single word ‘Yes’--and when it did come it was in a\u000ahusky unnatural tone.\u000a\u000a“There was silence for a moment, and then the daughter spoke in a calm\u000aclear voice.\u000a\u000a“‘No good can ever come of falsehood, mother,’ she said. ‘Let us be\u000afrank with this gentleman. We _did_ see Mr. Drebber again.’\u000a\u000a“‘God forgive you!’ cried Madame Charpentier, throwing up her hands and\u000asinking back in her chair. ‘You have murdered your brother.’\u000a\u000a“‘Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,’ the girl answered\u000afirmly.\u000a\u000a“‘You had best tell me all about it now,’ I said. ‘Half-confidences are\u000aworse than none. Besides, you do not know how much we know of it.’\u000a\u000a“‘On your head be it, Alice!’ cried her mother; and then, turning to me,\u000a‘I will tell you all, sir. Do not imagine that my agitation on behalf\u000aof my son arises from any fear lest he should have had a hand in this\u000aterrible affair. He is utterly innocent of it. My dread is, however,\u000athat in your eyes and in the eyes of others he may appear to be\u000acompromised. That however is surely impossible. His high character, his\u000aprofession, his antecedents would all forbid it.’\u000a\u000a“‘Your best way is to make a clean breast of the facts,’ I answered.\u000a‘Depend upon it, if your son is innocent he will be none the worse.’\u000a\u000a“‘Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us together,’ she said, and her\u000adaughter withdrew. ‘Now, sir,’ she continued, ‘I had no intention of\u000atelling you all this, but since my poor daughter has disclosed it I\u000ahave no alternative. Having once decided to speak, I will tell you all\u000awithout omitting any particular.’\u000a\u000a“‘It is your wisest course,’ said I.\u000a\u000a“‘Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly three weeks. He and his secretary,\u000aMr. Stangerson, had been travelling on the Continent. I noticed a\u000a“Copenhagen” label upon each of their trunks, showing that that had been\u000atheir last stopping place. Stangerson was a quiet reserved man, but his\u000aemployer, I am sorry to say, was far otherwise. He was coarse in his\u000ahabits and brutish in his ways. The very night of his arrival he became\u000avery much the worse for drink, and, indeed, after twelve o’clock in the\u000aday he could hardly ever be said to be sober. His manners towards the\u000amaid-servants were disgustingly free and familiar. Worst of all, he\u000aspeedily assumed the same attitude towards my daughter, Alice, and spoke\u000ato her more than once in a way which, fortunately, she is too innocent\u000ato understand. On one occasion he actually seized her in his arms and\u000aembraced her--an outrage which caused his own secretary to reproach him\u000afor his unmanly conduct.’\u000a\u000a“‘But why did you stand all this,’ I asked. ‘I suppose that you can get\u000arid of your boarders when you wish.’\u000a\u000a“Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. ‘Would to God that\u000aI had given him notice on the very day that he came,’ she said. ‘But\u000ait was a sore temptation. They were paying a pound a day each--fourteen\u000apounds a week, and this is the slack season. I am a widow, and my boy in\u000athe Navy has cost me much. I grudged to lose the money. I acted for the\u000abest. This last was too much, however, and I gave him notice to leave on\u000aaccount of it. That was the reason of his going.’\u000a\u000a“‘Well?’\u000a\u000a“‘My heart grew light when I saw him drive away. My son is on leave\u000ajust now, but I did not tell him anything of all this, for his temper\u000ais violent, and he is passionately fond of his sister. When I closed the\u000adoor behind them a load seemed to be lifted from my mind. Alas, in\u000aless than an hour there was a ring at the bell, and I learned that Mr.\u000aDrebber had returned. He was much excited, and evidently the worse for\u000adrink. He forced his way into the room, where I was sitting with my\u000adaughter, and made some incoherent remark about having missed his train.\u000aHe then turned to Alice, and before my very face, proposed to her that\u000ashe should fly with him. “You are of age,” he said, “and there is no law\u000ato stop you. I have money enough and to spare. Never mind the old girl\u000ahere, but come along with me now straight away. You shall live like a\u000aprincess.” Poor Alice was so frightened that she shrunk away from him,\u000abut he caught her by the wrist and endeavoured to draw her towards the\u000adoor. I screamed, and at that moment my son Arthur came into the room.\u000aWhat happened then I do not know. I heard oaths and the confused sounds\u000aof a scuffle. I was too terrified to raise my head. When I did look up\u000aI saw Arthur standing in the doorway laughing, with a stick in his hand.\u000a“I don’t think that fine fellow will trouble us again,” he said. “I will\u000ajust go after him and see what he does with himself.” With those words\u000ahe took his hat and started off down the street. The next morning we\u000aheard of Mr. Drebber’s mysterious death.’\u000a\u000a“This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier’s lips with many gasps and\u000apauses. At times she spoke so low that I could hardly catch the words. I\u000amade shorthand notes of all that she said, however, so that there should\u000abe no possibility of a mistake.”\u000a\u000a“It’s quite exciting,” said Sherlock Holmes, with a yawn. “What happened\u000anext?”\u000a\u000a“When Mrs. Charpentier paused,” the detective continued, “I saw that the\u000awhole case hung upon one point. Fixing her with my eye in a way which\u000aI always found effective with women, I asked her at what hour her son\u000areturned.\u000a\u000a“‘I do not know,’ she answered.\u000a\u000a“‘Not know?’\u000a\u000a“‘No; he has a latch-key, and he let himself in.’\u000a\u000a“‘After you went to bed?’\u000a\u000a“‘Yes.’\u000a\u000a“‘When did you go to bed?’\u000a\u000a“‘About eleven.’\u000a\u000a“‘So your son was gone at least two hours?’\u000a\u000a“‘Yes.’\u000a\u000a“‘Possibly four or five?’\u000a\u000a“‘Yes.’\u000a\u000a“‘What was he doing during that time?’\u000a\u000a“‘I do not know,’ she answered, turning white to her very lips.\u000a\u000a“Of course after that there was nothing more to be done. I found\u000aout where Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers with me, and\u000aarrested him. When I touched him on the shoulder and warned him to come\u000aquietly with us, he answered us as bold as brass, ‘I suppose you\u000aare arresting me for being concerned in the death of that scoundrel\u000aDrebber,’ he said. We had said nothing to him about it, so that his\u000aalluding to it had a most suspicious aspect.”\u000a\u000a“Very,” said Holmes.\u000a\u000a“He still carried the heavy stick which the mother described him as\u000ahaving with him when he followed Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel.”\u000a\u000a“What is your theory, then?”\u000a\u000a“Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far as the Brixton Road.\u000aWhen there, a fresh altercation arose between them, in the course of\u000awhich Drebber received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the stomach,\u000aperhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. The night was so\u000awet that no one was about, so Charpentier dragged the body of his victim\u000ainto the empty house. As to the candle, and the blood, and the writing\u000aon the wall, and the ring, they may all be so many tricks to throw the\u000apolice on to the wrong scent.”\u000a\u000a“Well done!” said Holmes in an encouraging voice. “Really, Gregson, you\u000aare getting along. We shall make something of you yet.”\u000a\u000a“I flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly,” the detective\u000aanswered proudly. “The young man volunteered a statement, in which he\u000asaid that after following Drebber some time, the latter perceived him,\u000aand took a cab in order to get away from him. On his way home he met an\u000aold shipmate, and took a long walk with him. On being asked where this\u000aold shipmate lived, he was unable to give any satisfactory reply. I\u000athink the whole case fits together uncommonly well. What amuses me is to\u000athink of Lestrade, who had started off upon the wrong scent. I am afraid\u000ahe won’t make much of [15] Why, by Jove, here’s the very man himself!”\u000a\u000aIt was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we were\u000atalking, and who now entered the room. The assurance and jauntiness\u000awhich generally marked his demeanour and dress were, however, wanting.\u000aHis face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were disarranged\u000aand untidy. He had evidently come with the intention of consulting\u000awith Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be\u000aembarrassed and put out. He stood in the centre of the room, fumbling\u000anervously with his hat and uncertain what to do. “This is a most\u000aextraordinary case,” he said at last--“a most incomprehensible affair.”\u000a\u000a“Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!” cried Gregson, triumphantly. “I\u000athought you would come to that conclusion. Have you managed to find the\u000aSecretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?”\u000a\u000a“The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson,” said Lestrade gravely, “was\u000amurdered at Halliday’s Private Hotel about six o’clock this morning.”\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER VII. LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS.\u000a\u000a\u000aTHE intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so momentous and so\u000aunexpected, that we were all three fairly dumfoundered. Gregson sprang\u000aout of his chair and upset the remainder of his whiskey and water. I\u000astared in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were compressed and his\u000abrows drawn down over his eyes.\u000a\u000a“Stangerson too!” he muttered. “The plot thickens.”\u000a\u000a“It was quite thick enough before,” grumbled Lestrade, taking a chair.\u000a“I seem to have dropped into a sort of council of war.”\u000a\u000a“Are you--are you sure of this piece of intelligence?” stammered\u000aGregson.\u000a\u000a“I have just come from his room,” said Lestrade. “I was the first to\u000adiscover what had occurred.”\u000a\u000a“We have been hearing Gregson’s view of the matter,” Holmes observed.\u000a“Would you mind letting us know what you have seen and done?”\u000a\u000a“I have no objection,” Lestrade answered, seating himself. “I freely\u000aconfess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson was concerned in\u000athe death of Drebber. This fresh development has shown me that I was\u000acompletely mistaken. Full of the one idea, I set myself to find out\u000awhat had become of the Secretary. They had been seen together at Euston\u000aStation about half-past eight on the evening of the third. At two in the\u000amorning Drebber had been found in the Brixton Road. The question which\u000aconfronted me was to find out how Stangerson had been employed between\u000a8.30 and the time of the crime, and what had become of him afterwards.\u000aI telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description of the man, and warning\u000athem to keep a watch upon the American boats. I then set to work calling\u000aupon all the hotels and lodging-houses in the vicinity of Euston. You\u000asee, I argued that if Drebber and his companion had become separated,\u000athe natural course for the latter would be to put up somewhere in the\u000avicinity for the night, and then to hang about the station again next\u000amorning.”\u000a\u000a“They would be likely to agree on some meeting-place beforehand,”\u000a remarked Holmes.\u000a\u000a“So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday evening in making\u000aenquiries entirely without avail. This morning I began very early, and\u000aat eight o’clock I reached Halliday’s Private Hotel, in Little George\u000aStreet. On my enquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson was living there,\u000athey at once answered me in the affirmative.\u000a\u000a“‘No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting,’ they said. ‘He\u000ahas been waiting for a gentleman for two days.’\u000a\u000a“‘Where is he now?’ I asked.\u000a\u000a“‘He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be called at nine.’\u000a\u000a“‘I will go up and see him at once,’ I said.\u000a\u000a“It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his nerves and\u000alead him to say something unguarded. The Boots volunteered to show me\u000athe room: it was on the second floor, and there was a small corridor\u000aleading up to it. The Boots pointed out the door to me, and was about to\u000ago downstairs again when I saw something that made me feel sickish, in\u000aspite of my twenty years’ experience. From under the door there curled\u000aa little red ribbon of blood, which had meandered across the passage and\u000aformed a little pool along the skirting at the other side. I gave a cry,\u000awhich brought the Boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The door\u000awas locked on the inside, but we put our shoulders to it, and knocked it\u000ain. The window of the room was open, and beside the window, all huddled\u000aup, lay the body of a man in his nightdress. He was quite dead, and had\u000abeen for some time, for his limbs were rigid and cold. When we turned\u000ahim over, the Boots recognized him at once as being the same gentleman\u000awho had engaged the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson. The cause\u000aof death was a deep stab in the left side, which must have penetrated\u000athe heart. And now comes the strangest part of the affair. What do you\u000asuppose was above the murdered man?”\u000a\u000aI felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment of coming horror,\u000aeven before Sherlock Holmes answered.\u000a\u000a“The word RACHE, written in letters of blood,” he said.\u000a\u000a“That was it,” said Lestrade, in an awe-struck voice; and we were all\u000asilent for a while.\u000a\u000aThere was something so methodical and so incomprehensible about the\u000adeeds of this unknown assassin, that it imparted a fresh ghastliness to\u000ahis crimes. My nerves, which were steady enough on the field of battle\u000atingled as I thought of it.\u000a\u000a“The man was seen,” continued Lestrade. “A milk boy, passing on his way\u000ato the dairy, happened to walk down the lane which leads from the mews\u000aat the back of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder, which usually lay\u000athere, was raised against one of the windows of the second floor, which\u000awas wide open. After passing, he looked back and saw a man descend the\u000aladder. He came down so quietly and openly that the boy imagined him to\u000abe some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. He took no particular\u000anotice of him, beyond thinking in his own mind that it was early for him\u000ato be at work. He has an impression that the man was tall, had a reddish\u000aface, and was dressed in a long, brownish coat. He must have stayed in\u000athe room some little time after the murder, for we found blood-stained\u000awater in the basin, where he had washed his hands, and marks on the\u000asheets where he had deliberately wiped his knife.”\u000a\u000aI glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the murderer, which\u000atallied so exactly with his own. There was, however, no trace of\u000aexultation or satisfaction upon his face.\u000a\u000a“Did you find nothing in the room which could furnish a clue to the\u000amurderer?” he asked.\u000a\u000a“Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber’s purse in his pocket, but it seems\u000athat this was usual, as he did all the paying. There was eighty odd\u000apounds in it, but nothing had been taken. Whatever the motives of these\u000aextraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not one of them. There were\u000ano papers or memoranda in the murdered man’s pocket, except a single\u000atelegram, dated from Cleveland about a month ago, and containing\u000athe words, ‘J. H. is in Europe.’ There was no name appended to this\u000amessage.”\u000a\u000a“And there was nothing else?” Holmes asked.\u000a\u000a“Nothing of any importance. The man’s novel, with which he had read\u000ahimself to sleep was lying upon the bed, and his pipe was on a chair\u000abeside him. There was a glass of water on the table, and on the\u000awindow-sill a small chip ointment box containing a couple of pills.”\u000a\u000aSherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an exclamation of delight.\u000a\u000a“The last link,” he cried, exultantly. “My case is complete.”\u000a\u000aThe two detectives stared at him in amazement.\u000a\u000a“I have now in my hands,” my companion said, confidently, “all the\u000athreads which have formed such a tangle. There are, of course, details\u000ato be filled in, but I am as certain of all the main facts, from the\u000atime that Drebber parted from Stangerson at the station, up to the\u000adiscovery of the body of the latter, as if I had seen them with my own\u000aeyes. I will give you a proof of my knowledge. Could you lay your hand\u000aupon those pills?”\u000a\u000a“I have them,” said Lestrade, producing a small white box; “I took them\u000aand the purse and the telegram, intending to have them put in a place of\u000asafety at the Police Station. It was the merest chance my taking these\u000apills, for I am bound to say that I do not attach any importance to\u000athem.”\u000a\u000a“Give them here,” said Holmes. “Now, Doctor,” turning to me, “are those\u000aordinary pills?”\u000a\u000aThey certainly were not. They were of a pearly grey colour, small,\u000around, and almost transparent against the light. “From their lightness\u000aand transparency, I should imagine that they are soluble in water,” I\u000aremarked.\u000a\u000a“Precisely so,” answered Holmes. “Now would you mind going down and\u000afetching that poor little devil of a terrier which has been bad so long,\u000aand which the landlady wanted you to put out of its pain yesterday.”\u000a\u000aI went downstairs and carried the dog upstair in my arms. It’s laboured\u000abreathing and glazing eye showed that it was not far from its end.\u000aIndeed, its snow-white muzzle proclaimed that it had already exceeded\u000athe usual term of canine existence. I placed it upon a cushion on the\u000arug.\u000a\u000a“I will now cut one of these pills in two,” said Holmes, and drawing his\u000apenknife he suited the action to the word. “One half we return into the\u000abox for future purposes. The other half I will place in this wine glass,\u000ain which is a teaspoonful of water. You perceive that our friend, the\u000aDoctor, is right, and that it readily dissolves.”\u000a\u000a“This may be very interesting,” said Lestrade, in the injured tone of\u000aone who suspects that he is being laughed at, “I cannot see, however,\u000awhat it has to do with the death of Mr. Joseph Stangerson.”\u000a\u000a“Patience, my friend, patience! You will find in time that it has\u000aeverything to do with it. I shall now add a little milk to make the\u000amixture palatable, and on presenting it to the dog we find that he laps\u000ait up readily enough.”\u000a\u000aAs he spoke he turned the contents of the wine glass into a saucer and\u000aplaced it in front of the terrier, who speedily licked it dry. Sherlock\u000aHolmes’ earnest demeanour had so far convinced us that we all sat in\u000asilence, watching the animal intently, and expecting some startling\u000aeffect. None such appeared, however. The dog continued to lie stretched\u000aupon tho [16] cushion, breathing in a laboured way, but apparently\u000aneither the better nor the worse for its draught.\u000a\u000aHolmes had taken out his watch, and as minute followed minute without\u000aresult, an expression of the utmost chagrin and disappointment appeared\u000aupon his features. He gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon the\u000atable, and showed every other symptom of acute impatience. So great\u000awas his emotion, that I felt sincerely sorry for him, while the two\u000adetectives smiled derisively, by no means displeased at this check which\u000ahe had met.\u000a\u000a“It can’t be a coincidence,” he cried, at last springing from his chair\u000aand pacing wildly up and down the room; “it is impossible that it should\u000abe a mere coincidence. The very pills which I suspected in the case of\u000aDrebber are actually found after the death of Stangerson. And yet they\u000aare inert. What can it mean? Surely my whole chain of reasoning cannot\u000ahave been false. It is impossible! And yet this wretched dog is none the\u000aworse. Ah, I have it! I have it!” With a perfect shriek of delight he\u000arushed to the box, cut the other pill in two, dissolved it, added milk,\u000aand presented it to the terrier. The unfortunate creature’s tongue\u000aseemed hardly to have been moistened in it before it gave a convulsive\u000ashiver in every limb, and lay as rigid and lifeless as if it had been\u000astruck by lightning.\u000a\u000aSherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and wiped the perspiration from his\u000aforehead. “I should have more faith,” he said; “I ought to know by\u000athis time that when a fact appears to be opposed to a long train of\u000adeductions, it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some other\u000ainterpretation. Of the two pills in that box one was of the most deadly\u000apoison, and the other was entirely harmless. I ought to have known that\u000abefore ever I saw the box at all.”\u000a\u000aThis last statement appeared to me to be so startling, that I could\u000ahardly believe that he was in his sober senses. There was the dead dog,\u000ahowever, to prove that his conjecture had been correct. It seemed to me\u000athat the mists in my own mind were gradually clearing away, and I began\u000ato have a dim, vague perception of the truth.\u000a\u000a“All this seems strange to you,” continued Holmes, “because you failed\u000aat the beginning of the inquiry to grasp the importance of the single\u000areal clue which was presented to you. I had the good fortune to seize\u000aupon that, and everything which has occurred since then has served to\u000aconfirm my original supposition, and, indeed, was the logical sequence\u000aof it. Hence things which have perplexed you and made the case more\u000aobscure, have served to enlighten me and to strengthen my conclusions.\u000aIt is a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. The most\u000acommonplace crime is often the most mysterious because it presents no\u000anew or special features from which deductions may be drawn. This murder\u000awould have been infinitely more difficult to unravel had the body of\u000athe victim been simply found lying in the roadway without any of\u000athose _outré_ and sensational accompaniments which have rendered\u000ait remarkable. These strange details, far from making the case more\u000adifficult, have really had the effect of making it less so.”\u000a\u000aMr. Gregson, who had listened to this address with considerable\u000aimpatience, could contain himself no longer. “Look here, Mr. Sherlock\u000aHolmes,” he said, “we are all ready to acknowledge that you are a smart\u000aman, and that you have your own methods of working. We want something\u000amore than mere theory and preaching now, though. It is a case of taking\u000athe man. I have made my case out, and it seems I was wrong. Young\u000aCharpentier could not have been engaged in this second affair. Lestrade\u000awent after his man, Stangerson, and it appears that he was wrong too.\u000aYou have thrown out hints here, and hints there, and seem to know more\u000athan we do, but the time has come when we feel that we have a right to\u000aask you straight how much you do know of the business. Can you name the\u000aman who did it?”\u000a\u000a“I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir,” remarked Lestrade.\u000a“We have both tried, and we have both failed. You have remarked more\u000athan once since I have been in the room that you had all the evidence\u000awhich you require. Surely you will not withhold it any longer.”\u000a\u000a“Any delay in arresting the assassin,” I observed, “might give him time\u000ato perpetrate some fresh atrocity.”\u000a\u000aThus pressed by us all, Holmes showed signs of irresolution. He\u000acontinued to walk up and down the room with his head sunk on his chest\u000aand his brows drawn down, as was his habit when lost in thought.\u000a\u000a“There will be no more murders,” he said at last, stopping abruptly and\u000afacing us. “You can put that consideration out of the question. You have\u000aasked me if I know the name of the assassin. I do. The mere knowing of\u000ahis name is a small thing, however, compared with the power of laying\u000aour hands upon him. This I expect very shortly to do. I have good hopes\u000aof managing it through my own arrangements; but it is a thing which\u000aneeds delicate handling, for we have a shrewd and desperate man to deal\u000awith, who is supported, as I have had occasion to prove, by another who\u000ais as clever as himself. As long as this man has no idea that anyone\u000acan have a clue there is some chance of securing him; but if he had the\u000aslightest suspicion, he would change his name, and vanish in an instant\u000aamong the four million inhabitants of this great city. Without meaning\u000ato hurt either of your feelings, I am bound to say that I consider these\u000amen to be more than a match for the official force, and that is why I\u000ahave not asked your assistance. If I fail I shall, of course, incur all\u000athe blame due to this omission; but that I am prepared for. At present\u000aI am ready to promise that the instant that I can communicate with you\u000awithout endangering my own combinations, I shall do so.”\u000a\u000aGregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied by this assurance,\u000aor by the depreciating allusion to the detective police. The former had\u000aflushed up to the roots of his flaxen hair, while the other’s beady eyes\u000aglistened with curiosity and resentment. Neither of them had time to\u000aspeak, however, before there was a tap at the door, and the spokesman\u000aof the street Arabs, young Wiggins, introduced his insignificant and\u000aunsavoury person.\u000a\u000a“Please, sir,” he said, touching his forelock, “I have the cab\u000adownstairs.”\u000a\u000a“Good boy,” said Holmes, blandly. “Why don’t you introduce this pattern\u000aat Scotland Yard?” he continued, taking a pair of steel handcuffs from\u000aa drawer. “See how beautifully the spring works. They fasten in an\u000ainstant.”\u000a\u000a“The old pattern is good enough,” remarked Lestrade, “if we can only\u000afind the man to put them on.”\u000a\u000a“Very good, very good,” said Holmes, smiling. “The cabman may as well\u000ahelp me with my boxes. Just ask him to step up, Wiggins.”\u000a\u000aI was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he were about\u000ato set out on a journey, since he had not said anything to me about it.\u000aThere was a small portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out and\u000abegan to strap. He was busily engaged at it when the cabman entered the\u000aroom.\u000a\u000a“Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman,” he said, kneeling over\u000ahis task, and never turning his head.\u000a\u000aThe fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air, and put\u000adown his hands to assist. At that instant there was a sharp click, the\u000ajangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet again.\u000a\u000a“Gentlemen,” he cried, with flashing eyes, “let me introduce you to Mr.\u000aJefferson Hope, the murderer of Enoch Drebber and of Joseph Stangerson.”\u000a\u000aThe whole thing occurred in a moment--so quickly that I had no time\u000ato realize it. I have a vivid recollection of that instant, of Holmes’\u000atriumphant expression and the ring of his voice, of the cabman’s\u000adazed, savage face, as he glared at the glittering handcuffs, which had\u000aappeared as if by magic upon his wrists. For a second or two we might\u000ahave been a group of statues. Then, with an inarticulate roar of fury,\u000athe prisoner wrenched himself free from Holmes’s grasp, and hurled\u000ahimself through the window. Woodwork and glass gave way before him; but\u000abefore he got quite through, Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon\u000ahim like so many staghounds. He was dragged back into the room, and then\u000acommenced a terrific conflict. So powerful and so fierce was he, that\u000athe four of us were shaken off again and again. He appeared to have the\u000aconvulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit. His face and hands\u000awere terribly mangled by his passage through the glass, but loss of\u000ablood had no effect in diminishing his resistance. It was not until\u000aLestrade succeeded in getting his hand inside his neckcloth and\u000ahalf-strangling him that we made him realize that his struggles were of\u000ano avail; and even then we felt no security until we had pinioned his\u000afeet as well as his hands. That done, we rose to our feet breathless and\u000apanting.\u000a\u000a“We have his cab,” said Sherlock Holmes. “It will serve to take him to\u000aScotland Yard. And now, gentlemen,” he continued, with a pleasant smile,\u000a“we have reached the end of our little mystery. You are very welcome to\u000aput any questions that you like to me now, and there is no danger that I\u000awill refuse to answer them.”\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aPART II. _The Country of the Saints._\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER I. ON THE GREAT ALKALI PLAIN.\u000a\u000a\u000aIN the central portion of the great North American Continent there lies\u000aan arid and repulsive desert, which for many a long year served as a\u000abarrier against the advance of civilisation. From the Sierra Nevada to\u000aNebraska, and from the Yellowstone River in the north to the Colorado\u000aupon the south, is a region of desolation and silence. Nor is Nature\u000aalways in one mood throughout this grim district. It comprises\u000asnow-capped and lofty mountains, and dark and gloomy valleys. There are\u000aswift-flowing rivers which dash through jagged cañons; and there are\u000aenormous plains, which in winter are white with snow, and in summer are\u000agrey with the saline alkali dust. They all preserve, however, the common\u000acharacteristics of barrenness, inhospitality, and misery.\u000a\u000aThere are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A band of Pawnees\u000aor of Blackfeet may occasionally traverse it in order to reach other\u000ahunting-grounds, but the hardiest of the braves are glad to lose sight\u000aof those awesome plains, and to find themselves once more upon their\u000aprairies. The coyote skulks among the scrub, the buzzard flaps heavily\u000athrough the air, and the clumsy grizzly bear lumbers through the dark\u000aravines, and picks up such sustenance as it can amongst the rocks. These\u000aare the sole dwellers in the wilderness.\u000a\u000aIn the whole world there can be no more dreary view than that from\u000athe northern slope of the Sierra Blanco. As far as the eye can reach\u000astretches the great flat plain-land, all dusted over with patches of\u000aalkali, and intersected by clumps of the dwarfish chaparral bushes. On\u000athe extreme verge of the horizon lie a long chain of mountain peaks,\u000awith their rugged summits flecked with snow. In this great stretch of\u000acountry there is no sign of life, nor of anything appertaining to life.\u000aThere is no bird in the steel-blue heaven, no movement upon the dull,\u000agrey earth--above all, there is absolute silence. Listen as one may,\u000athere is no shadow of a sound in all that mighty wilderness; nothing but\u000asilence--complete and heart-subduing silence.\u000a\u000aIt has been said there is nothing appertaining to life upon the broad\u000aplain. That is hardly true. Looking down from the Sierra Blanco, one\u000asees a pathway traced out across the desert, which winds away and is\u000alost in the extreme distance. It is rutted with wheels and trodden down\u000aby the feet of many adventurers. Here and there there are scattered\u000awhite objects which glisten in the sun, and stand out against the dull\u000adeposit of alkali. Approach, and examine them! They are bones: some\u000alarge and coarse, others smaller and more delicate. The former have\u000abelonged to oxen, and the latter to men. For fifteen hundred miles one\u000amay trace this ghastly caravan route by these scattered remains of those\u000awho had fallen by the wayside.\u000a\u000aLooking down on this very scene, there stood upon the fourth of May,\u000aeighteen hundred and forty-seven, a solitary traveller. His appearance\u000awas such that he might have been the very genius or demon of the region.\u000aAn observer would have found it difficult to say whether he was nearer\u000ato forty or to sixty. His face was lean and haggard, and the brown\u000aparchment-like skin was drawn tightly over the projecting bones; his\u000along, brown hair and beard were all flecked and dashed with white; his\u000aeyes were sunken in his head, and burned with an unnatural lustre; while\u000athe hand which grasped his rifle was hardly more fleshy than that of a\u000askeleton. As he stood, he leaned upon his weapon for support, and yet\u000ahis tall figure and the massive framework of his bones suggested a wiry\u000aand vigorous constitution. His gaunt face, however, and his clothes,\u000awhich hung so baggily over his shrivelled limbs, proclaimed what it\u000awas that gave him that senile and decrepit appearance. The man was\u000adying--dying from hunger and from thirst.\u000a\u000aHe had toiled painfully down the ravine, and on to this little\u000aelevation, in the vain hope of seeing some signs of water. Now the great\u000asalt plain stretched before his eyes, and the distant belt of savage\u000amountains, without a sign anywhere of plant or tree, which might\u000aindicate the presence of moisture. In all that broad landscape there\u000awas no gleam of hope. North, and east, and west he looked with wild\u000aquestioning eyes, and then he realised that his wanderings had come to\u000aan end, and that there, on that barren crag, he was about to die. “Why\u000anot here, as well as in a feather bed, twenty years hence,” he muttered,\u000aas he seated himself in the shelter of a boulder.\u000a\u000aBefore sitting down, he had deposited upon the ground his useless rifle,\u000aand also a large bundle tied up in a grey shawl, which he had carried\u000aslung over his right shoulder. It appeared to be somewhat too heavy for\u000ahis strength, for in lowering it, it came down on the ground with some\u000alittle violence. Instantly there broke from the grey parcel a little\u000amoaning cry, and from it there protruded a small, scared face, with very\u000abright brown eyes, and two little speckled, dimpled fists.\u000a\u000a“You’ve hurt me!” said a childish voice reproachfully.\u000a\u000a“Have I though,” the man answered penitently, “I didn’t go for to do\u000ait.” As he spoke he unwrapped the grey shawl and extricated a pretty\u000alittle girl of about five years of age, whose dainty shoes and smart\u000apink frock with its little linen apron all bespoke a mother’s care. The\u000achild was pale and wan, but her healthy arms and legs showed that she\u000ahad suffered less than her companion.\u000a\u000a“How is it now?” he answered anxiously, for she was still rubbing the\u000atowsy golden curls which covered the back of her head.\u000a\u000a“Kiss it and make it well,” she said, with perfect gravity, shoving\u000a[19] the injured part up to him. “That’s what mother used to do. Where’s\u000amother?”\u000a\u000a“Mother’s gone. I guess you’ll see her before long.”\u000a\u000a“Gone, eh!” said the little girl. “Funny, she didn’t say good-bye; she\u000a‘most always did if she was just goin’ over to Auntie’s for tea, and now\u000ashe’s been away three days. Say, it’s awful dry, ain’t it? Ain’t there\u000ano water, nor nothing to eat?”\u000a\u000a“No, there ain’t nothing, dearie. You’ll just need to be patient awhile,\u000aand then you’ll be all right. Put your head up agin me like that, and\u000athen you’ll feel bullier. It ain’t easy to talk when your lips is like\u000aleather, but I guess I’d best let you know how the cards lie. What’s\u000athat you’ve got?”\u000a\u000a“Pretty things! fine things!” cried the little girl enthusiastically,\u000aholding up two glittering fragments of mica. “When we goes back to home\u000aI’ll give them to brother Bob.”\u000a\u000a“You’ll see prettier things than them soon,” said the man confidently.\u000a“You just wait a bit. I was going to tell you though--you remember when\u000awe left the river?”\u000a\u000a“Oh, yes.”\u000a\u000a“Well, we reckoned we’d strike another river soon, d’ye see. But there\u000awas somethin’ wrong; compasses, or map, or somethin’, and it didn’t\u000aturn up. Water ran out. Just except a little drop for the likes of you\u000aand--and----”\u000a\u000a“And you couldn’t wash yourself,” interrupted his companion gravely,\u000astaring up at his grimy visage.\u000a\u000a“No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he was the fust to go, and then Indian\u000aPete, and then Mrs. McGregor, and then Johnny Hones, and then, dearie,\u000ayour mother.”\u000a\u000a“Then mother’s a deader too,” cried the little girl dropping her face in\u000aher pinafore and sobbing bitterly.\u000a\u000a“Yes, they all went except you and me. Then I thought there was some\u000achance of water in this direction, so I heaved you over my shoulder and\u000awe tramped it together. It don’t seem as though we’ve improved matters.\u000aThere’s an almighty small chance for us now!”\u000a\u000a“Do you mean that we are going to die too?” asked the child, checking\u000aher sobs, and raising her tear-stained face.\u000a\u000a“I guess that’s about the size of it.”\u000a\u000a“Why didn’t you say so before?” she said, laughing gleefully. “You gave\u000ame such a fright. Why, of course, now as long as we die we’ll be with\u000amother again.”\u000a\u000a“Yes, you will, dearie.”\u000a\u000a“And you too. I’ll tell her how awful good you’ve been. I’ll bet she\u000ameets us at the door of Heaven with a big pitcher of water, and a lot\u000aof buckwheat cakes, hot, and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me was\u000afond of. How long will it be first?”\u000a\u000a“I don’t know--not very long.” The man’s eyes were fixed upon the\u000anorthern horizon. In the blue vault of the heaven there had appeared\u000athree little specks which increased in size every moment, so rapidly did\u000athey approach. They speedily resolved themselves into three large brown\u000abirds, which circled over the heads of the two wanderers, and then\u000asettled upon some rocks which overlooked them. They were buzzards, the\u000avultures of the west, whose coming is the forerunner of death.\u000a\u000a“Cocks and hens,” cried the little girl gleefully, pointing at their\u000aill-omened forms, and clapping her hands to make them rise. “Say, did\u000aGod make this country?”\u000a\u000a“In course He did,” said her companion, rather startled by this\u000aunexpected question.\u000a\u000a“He made the country down in Illinois, and He made the Missouri,” the\u000alittle girl continued. “I guess somebody else made the country in these\u000aparts. It’s not nearly so well done. They forgot the water and the\u000atrees.”\u000a\u000a“What would ye think of offering up prayer?” the man asked diffidently.\u000a\u000a“It ain’t night yet,” she answered.\u000a\u000a“It don’t matter. It ain’t quite regular, but He won’t mind that, you\u000abet. You say over them ones that you used to say every night in the\u000awaggon when we was on the Plains.”\u000a\u000a“Why don’t you say some yourself?” the child asked, with wondering eyes.\u000a\u000a“I disremember them,” he answered. “I hain’t said none since I was half\u000athe height o’ that gun. I guess it’s never too late. You say them out,\u000aand I’ll stand by and come in on the choruses.”\u000a\u000a“Then you’ll need to kneel down, and me too,” she said, laying the shawl\u000aout for that purpose. “You’ve got to put your hands up like this. It\u000amakes you feel kind o’ good.”\u000a\u000aIt was a strange sight had there been anything but the buzzards to see\u000ait. Side by side on the narrow shawl knelt the two wanderers, the little\u000aprattling child and the reckless, hardened adventurer. Her chubby face,\u000aand his haggard, angular visage were both turned up to the cloudless\u000aheaven in heartfelt entreaty to that dread being with whom they were\u000aface to face, while the two voices--the one thin and clear, the other\u000adeep and harsh--united in the entreaty for mercy and forgiveness. The\u000aprayer finished, they resumed their seat in the shadow of the boulder\u000auntil the child fell asleep, nestling upon the broad breast of her\u000aprotector. He watched over her slumber for some time, but Nature proved\u000ato be too strong for him. For three days and three nights he had allowed\u000ahimself neither rest nor repose. Slowly the eyelids drooped over the\u000atired eyes, and the head sunk lower and lower upon the breast, until the\u000aman’s grizzled beard was mixed with the gold tresses of his companion,\u000aand both slept the same deep and dreamless slumber.\u000a\u000aHad the wanderer remained awake for another half hour a strange sight\u000awould have met his eyes. Far away on the extreme verge of the alkali\u000aplain there rose up a little spray of dust, very slight at first, and\u000ahardly to be distinguished from the mists of the distance, but gradually\u000agrowing higher and broader until it formed a solid, well-defined cloud.\u000aThis cloud continued to increase in size until it became evident that it\u000acould only be raised by a great multitude of moving creatures. In more\u000afertile spots the observer would have come to the conclusion that one\u000aof those great herds of bisons which graze upon the prairie land was\u000aapproaching him. This was obviously impossible in these arid wilds. As\u000athe whirl of dust drew nearer to the solitary bluff upon which the two\u000acastaways were reposing, the canvas-covered tilts of waggons and the\u000afigures of armed horsemen began to show up through the haze, and the\u000aapparition revealed itself as being a great caravan upon its journey for\u000athe West. But what a caravan! When the head of it had reached the base\u000aof the mountains, the rear was not yet visible on the horizon. Right\u000aacross the enormous plain stretched the straggling array, waggons\u000aand carts, men on horseback, and men on foot. Innumerable women who\u000astaggered along under burdens, and children who toddled beside the\u000awaggons or peeped out from under the white coverings. This was evidently\u000ano ordinary party of immigrants, but rather some nomad people who had\u000abeen compelled from stress of circumstances to seek themselves a new\u000acountry. There rose through the clear air a confused clattering and\u000arumbling from this great mass of humanity, with the creaking of wheels\u000aand the neighing of horses. Loud as it was, it was not sufficient to\u000arouse the two tired wayfarers above them.\u000a\u000aAt the head of the column there rode a score or more of grave ironfaced\u000amen, clad in sombre homespun garments and armed with rifles. On reaching\u000athe base of the bluff they halted, and held a short council among\u000athemselves.\u000a\u000a“The wells are to the right, my brothers,” said one, a hard-lipped,\u000aclean-shaven man with grizzly hair.\u000a\u000a“To the right of the Sierra Blanco--so we shall reach the Rio Grande,”\u000a said another.\u000a\u000a“Fear not for water,” cried a third. “He who could draw it from the\u000arocks will not now abandon His own chosen people.”\u000a\u000a“Amen! Amen!” responded the whole party.\u000a\u000aThey were about to resume their journey when one of the youngest and\u000akeenest-eyed uttered an exclamation and pointed up at the rugged crag\u000aabove them. From its summit there fluttered a little wisp of pink,\u000ashowing up hard and bright against the grey rocks behind. At the sight\u000athere was a general reining up of horses and unslinging of guns, while\u000afresh horsemen came galloping up to reinforce the vanguard. The word\u000a‘Redskins’ was on every lip.\u000a\u000a“There can’t be any number of Injuns here,” said the elderly man who\u000aappeared to be in command. “We have passed the Pawnees, and there are no\u000aother tribes until we cross the great mountains.”\u000a\u000a“Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stangerson,” asked one of the band.\u000a\u000a“And I,” “and I,” cried a dozen voices.\u000a\u000a“Leave your horses below and we will await you here,” the Elder\u000aanswered. In a moment the young fellows had dismounted, fastened their\u000ahorses, and were ascending the precipitous slope which led up to the\u000aobject which had excited their curiosity. They advanced rapidly and\u000anoiselessly, with the confidence and dexterity of practised scouts.\u000aThe watchers from the plain below could see them flit from rock to rock\u000auntil their figures stood out against the skyline. The young man who had\u000afirst given the alarm was leading them. Suddenly his followers saw him\u000athrow up his hands, as though overcome with astonishment, and on joining\u000ahim they were affected in the same way by the sight which met their\u000aeyes.\u000a\u000aOn the little plateau which crowned the barren hill there stood a\u000asingle giant boulder, and against this boulder there lay a tall man,\u000along-bearded and hard-featured, but of an excessive thinness. His placid\u000aface and regular breathing showed that he was fast asleep. Beside him\u000alay a little child, with her round white arms encircling his brown\u000asinewy neck, and her golden haired head resting upon the breast of his\u000avelveteen tunic. Her rosy lips were parted, showing the regular line of\u000asnow-white teeth within, and a playful smile played over her infantile\u000afeatures. Her plump little white legs terminating in white socks and\u000aneat shoes with shining buckles, offered a strange contrast to the long\u000ashrivelled members of her companion. On the ledge of rock above this\u000astrange couple there stood three solemn buzzards, who, at the sight of\u000athe new comers uttered raucous screams of disappointment and flapped\u000asullenly away.\u000a\u000aThe cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers who stared about [20]\u000athem in bewilderment. The man staggered to his feet and looked down upon\u000athe plain which had been so desolate when sleep had overtaken him, and\u000awhich was now traversed by this enormous body of men and of beasts. His\u000aface assumed an expression of incredulity as he gazed, and he passed his\u000aboney hand over his eyes. “This is what they call delirium, I guess,”\u000a he muttered. The child stood beside him, holding on to the skirt of\u000ahis coat, and said nothing but looked all round her with the wondering\u000aquestioning gaze of childhood.\u000a\u000aThe rescuing party were speedily able to convince the two castaways that\u000atheir appearance was no delusion. One of them seized the little girl,\u000aand hoisted her upon his shoulder, while two others supported her gaunt\u000acompanion, and assisted him towards the waggons.\u000a\u000a“My name is John Ferrier,” the wanderer explained; “me and that little\u000aun are all that’s left o’ twenty-one people. The rest is all dead o’\u000athirst and hunger away down in the south.”\u000a\u000a“Is she your child?” asked someone.\u000a\u000a“I guess she is now,” the other cried, defiantly; “she’s mine ‘cause I\u000asaved her. No man will take her from me. She’s Lucy Ferrier from this\u000aday on. Who are you, though?” he continued, glancing with curiosity at\u000ahis stalwart, sunburned rescuers; “there seems to be a powerful lot of\u000aye.”\u000a\u000a“Nigh upon ten thousand,” said one of the young men; “we are the\u000apersecuted children of God--the chosen of the Angel Merona.”\u000a\u000a“I never heard tell on him,” said the wanderer. “He appears to have\u000achosen a fair crowd of ye.”\u000a\u000a“Do not jest at that which is sacred,” said the other sternly. “We are\u000aof those who believe in those sacred writings, drawn in Egyptian letters\u000aon plates of beaten gold, which were handed unto the holy Joseph Smith\u000aat Palmyra. We have come from Nauvoo, in the State of Illinois, where we\u000ahad founded our temple. We have come to seek a refuge from the violent\u000aman and from the godless, even though it be the heart of the desert.”\u000a\u000aThe name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections to John Ferrier. “I\u000asee,” he said, “you are the Mormons.”\u000a\u000a“We are the Mormons,” answered his companions with one voice.\u000a\u000a“And where are you going?”\u000a\u000a“We do not know. The hand of God is leading us under the person of our\u000aProphet. You must come before him. He shall say what is to be done with\u000ayou.”\u000a\u000aThey had reached the base of the hill by this time, and were surrounded\u000aby crowds of the pilgrims--pale-faced meek-looking women, strong\u000alaughing children, and anxious earnest-eyed men. Many were the cries\u000aof astonishment and of commiseration which arose from them when they\u000aperceived the youth of one of the strangers and the destitution of the\u000aother. Their escort did not halt, however, but pushed on, followed by\u000aa great crowd of Mormons, until they reached a waggon, which was\u000aconspicuous for its great size and for the gaudiness and smartness of\u000aits appearance. Six horses were yoked to it, whereas the others were\u000afurnished with two, or, at most, four a-piece. Beside the driver there\u000asat a man who could not have been more than thirty years of age, but\u000awhose massive head and resolute expression marked him as a leader. He\u000awas reading a brown-backed volume, but as the crowd approached he laid\u000ait aside, and listened attentively to an account of the episode. Then he\u000aturned to the two castaways.\u000a\u000a“If we take you with us,” he said, in solemn words, “it can only be as\u000abelievers in our own creed. We shall have no wolves in our fold. Better\u000afar that your bones should bleach in this wilderness than that you\u000ashould prove to be that little speck of decay which in time corrupts the\u000awhole fruit. Will you come with us on these terms?”\u000a\u000a“Guess I’ll come with you on any terms,” said Ferrier, with such\u000aemphasis that the grave Elders could not restrain a smile. The leader\u000aalone retained his stern, impressive expression.\u000a\u000a“Take him, Brother Stangerson,” he said, “give him food and drink,\u000aand the child likewise. Let it be your task also to teach him our holy\u000acreed. We have delayed long enough. Forward! On, on to Zion!”\u000a\u000a“On, on to Zion!” cried the crowd of Mormons, and the words rippled down\u000athe long caravan, passing from mouth to mouth until they died away in a\u000adull murmur in the far distance. With a cracking of whips and a creaking\u000aof wheels the great waggons got into motion, and soon the whole caravan\u000awas winding along once more. The Elder to whose care the two waifs\u000ahad been committed, led them to his waggon, where a meal was already\u000aawaiting them.\u000a\u000a“You shall remain here,” he said. “In a few days you will have recovered\u000afrom your fatigues. In the meantime, remember that now and for ever you\u000aare of our religion. Brigham Young has said it, and he has spoken with\u000athe voice of Joseph Smith, which is the voice of God.”\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER II. THE FLOWER OF UTAH.\u000a\u000a\u000aTHIS is not the place to commemorate the trials and privations endured\u000aby the immigrant Mormons before they came to their final haven. From the\u000ashores of the Mississippi to the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains\u000athey had struggled on with a constancy almost unparalleled in history.\u000aThe savage man, and the savage beast, hunger, thirst, fatigue, and\u000adisease--every impediment which Nature could place in the way, had all\u000abeen overcome with Anglo-Saxon tenacity. Yet the long journey and the\u000aaccumulated terrors had shaken the hearts of the stoutest among them.\u000aThere was not one who did not sink upon his knees in heartfelt prayer\u000awhen they saw the broad valley of Utah bathed in the sunlight beneath\u000athem, and learned from the lips of their leader that this was the\u000apromised land, and that these virgin acres were to be theirs for\u000aevermore.\u000a\u000aYoung speedily proved himself to be a skilful administrator as well as a\u000aresolute chief. Maps were drawn and charts prepared, in which the future\u000acity was sketched out. All around farms were apportioned and allotted in\u000aproportion to the standing of each individual. The tradesman was put\u000ato his trade and the artisan to his calling. In the town streets and\u000asquares sprang up, as if by magic. In the country there was draining\u000aand hedging, planting and clearing, until the next summer saw the whole\u000acountry golden with the wheat crop. Everything prospered in the strange\u000asettlement. Above all, the great temple which they had erected in the\u000acentre of the city grew ever taller and larger. From the first blush of\u000adawn until the closing of the twilight, the clatter of the hammer\u000aand the rasp of the saw was never absent from the monument which the\u000aimmigrants erected to Him who had led them safe through many dangers.\u000a\u000aThe two castaways, John Ferrier and the little girl who had shared his\u000afortunes and had been adopted as his daughter, accompanied the Mormons\u000ato the end of their great pilgrimage. Little Lucy Ferrier was borne\u000aalong pleasantly enough in Elder Stangerson’s waggon, a retreat which\u000ashe shared with the Mormon’s three wives and with his son, a headstrong\u000aforward boy of twelve. Having rallied, with the elasticity of childhood,\u000afrom the shock caused by her mother’s death, she soon became a pet\u000awith the women, and reconciled herself to this new life in her moving\u000acanvas-covered home. In the meantime Ferrier having recovered from his\u000aprivations, distinguished himself as a useful guide and an indefatigable\u000ahunter. So rapidly did he gain the esteem of his new companions, that\u000awhen they reached the end of their wanderings, it was unanimously agreed\u000athat he should be provided with as large and as fertile a tract of land\u000aas any of the settlers, with the exception of Young himself, and of\u000aStangerson, Kemball, Johnston, and Drebber, who were the four principal\u000aElders.\u000a\u000aOn the farm thus acquired John Ferrier built himself a substantial\u000alog-house, which received so many additions in succeeding years that it\u000agrew into a roomy villa. He was a man of a practical turn of mind,\u000akeen in his dealings and skilful with his hands. His iron constitution\u000aenabled him to work morning and evening at improving and tilling his\u000alands. Hence it came about that his farm and all that belonged to\u000ahim prospered exceedingly. In three years he was better off than his\u000aneighbours, in six he was well-to-do, in nine he was rich, and in twelve\u000athere were not half a dozen men in the whole of Salt Lake City who could\u000acompare with him. From the great inland sea to the distant Wahsatch\u000aMountains there was no name better known than that of John Ferrier.\u000a\u000aThere was one way and only one in which he offended the susceptibilities\u000aof his co-religionists. No argument or persuasion could ever induce him\u000ato set up a female establishment after the manner of his companions. He\u000anever gave reasons for this persistent refusal, but contented himself by\u000aresolutely and inflexibly adhering to his determination. There were some\u000awho accused him of lukewarmness in his adopted religion, and others who\u000aput it down to greed of wealth and reluctance to incur expense. Others,\u000aagain, spoke of some early love affair, and of a fair-haired girl who\u000ahad pined away on the shores of the Atlantic. Whatever the reason,\u000aFerrier remained strictly celibate. In every other respect he conformed\u000ato the religion of the young settlement, and gained the name of being an\u000aorthodox and straight-walking man.\u000a\u000aLucy Ferrier grew up within the log-house, and assisted her adopted\u000afather in all his undertakings. The keen air of the mountains and the\u000abalsamic odour of the pine trees took the place of nurse and mother to\u000athe young girl. As year succeeded to year she grew taller and stronger,\u000aher cheek more rudy, and her step more elastic. Many a wayfarer upon\u000athe high road which ran by Ferrier’s farm felt long-forgotten thoughts\u000arevive in their mind as they watched her lithe girlish figure tripping\u000athrough the wheatfields, or met her mounted upon her father’s mustang,\u000aand managing it with all the ease and grace of a true child of the West.\u000aSo the bud blossomed into a flower, and the year which saw her father\u000athe richest of the farmers left her as fair a specimen of American\u000agirlhood as could be found in the whole Pacific slope.\u000a\u000aIt was not the father, however, who first discovered that the child had\u000adeveloped into the woman. It seldom is in such cases. That mysterious\u000achange is too subtle and too gradual to be measured by dates. Least of\u000aall does the maiden herself know it until the tone of a voice or the\u000atouch of a hand sets her heart thrilling within her, and she learns,\u000awith a mixture of pride and of fear, that a new and a larger nature has\u000aawoken within her. There are few who cannot recall that day and remember\u000athe one little incident which heralded the dawn of a new life. In the\u000acase of Lucy Ferrier the occasion was serious enough in itself, apart\u000afrom its future influence on her destiny and that of many besides.\u000a\u000aIt was a warm June morning, and the Latter Day Saints were as busy as\u000athe bees whose hive they have chosen for their emblem. In the fields and\u000ain the streets rose the same hum of human industry. Down the dusty high\u000aroads defiled long streams of heavily-laden mules, all heading to the\u000awest, for the gold fever had broken out in California, and the Overland\u000aRoute lay through the City of the Elect. There, too, were droves of\u000asheep and bullocks coming in from the outlying pasture lands, and trains\u000aof tired immigrants, men and horses equally weary of their interminable\u000ajourney. Through all this motley assemblage, threading her way with the\u000askill of an accomplished rider, there galloped Lucy Ferrier, her fair\u000aface flushed with the exercise and her long chestnut hair floating out\u000abehind her. She had a commission from her father in the City, and was\u000adashing in as she had done many a time before, with all the fearlessness\u000aof youth, thinking only of her task and how it was to be performed. The\u000atravel-stained adventurers gazed after her in astonishment, and even\u000athe unemotional Indians, journeying in with their pelties, relaxed their\u000aaccustomed stoicism as they marvelled at the beauty of the pale-faced\u000amaiden.\u000a\u000aShe had reached the outskirts of the city when she found the road\u000ablocked by a great drove of cattle, driven by a half-dozen wild-looking\u000aherdsmen from the plains. In her impatience she endeavoured to pass this\u000aobstacle by pushing her horse into what appeared to be a gap. Scarcely\u000ahad she got fairly into it, however, before the beasts closed in behind\u000aher, and she found herself completely imbedded in the moving stream of\u000afierce-eyed, long-horned bullocks. Accustomed as she was to deal with\u000acattle, she was not alarmed at her situation, but took advantage of\u000aevery opportunity to urge her horse on in the hopes of pushing her way\u000athrough the cavalcade. Unfortunately the horns of one of the creatures,\u000aeither by accident or design, came in violent contact with the flank of\u000athe mustang, and excited it to madness. In an instant it reared up upon\u000aits hind legs with a snort of rage, and pranced and tossed in a way that\u000awould have unseated any but a most skilful rider. The situation was full\u000aof peril. Every plunge of the excited horse brought it against the horns\u000aagain, and goaded it to fresh madness. It was all that the girl could\u000ado to keep herself in the saddle, yet a slip would mean a terrible death\u000aunder the hoofs of the unwieldy and terrified animals. Unaccustomed to\u000asudden emergencies, her head began to swim, and her grip upon the bridle\u000ato relax. Choked by the rising cloud of dust and by the steam from the\u000astruggling creatures, she might have abandoned her efforts in despair,\u000abut for a kindly voice at her elbow which assured her of assistance. At\u000athe same moment a sinewy brown hand caught the frightened horse by\u000athe curb, and forcing a way through the drove, soon brought her to the\u000aoutskirts.\u000a\u000a“You’re not hurt, I hope, miss,” said her preserver, respectfully.\u000a\u000aShe looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed saucily. “I’m awful\u000afrightened,” she said, naively; “whoever would have thought that Poncho\u000awould have been so scared by a lot of cows?”\u000a\u000a“Thank God you kept your seat,” the other said earnestly. He was a tall,\u000asavage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerful roan horse, and\u000aclad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over his\u000ashoulders. “I guess you are the daughter of John Ferrier,” he remarked,\u000a“I saw you ride down from his house. When you see him, ask him if he\u000aremembers the Jefferson Hopes of St. Louis. If he’s the same Ferrier, my\u000afather and he were pretty thick.”\u000a\u000a“Hadn’t you better come and ask yourself?” she asked, demurely.\u000a\u000aThe young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, and his dark eyes\u000asparkled with pleasure. “I’ll do so,” he said, “we’ve been in the\u000amountains for two months, and are not over and above in visiting\u000acondition. He must take us as he finds us.”\u000a\u000a“He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have I,” she answered,\u000a“he’s awful fond of me. If those cows had jumped on me he’d have never\u000agot over it.”\u000a\u000a“Neither would I,” said her companion.\u000a\u000a“You! Well, I don’t see that it would make much matter to you, anyhow.\u000aYou ain’t even a friend of ours.”\u000a\u000aThe young hunter’s dark face grew so gloomy over this remark that Lucy\u000aFerrier laughed aloud.\u000a\u000a“There, I didn’t mean that,” she said; “of course, you are a friend now.\u000aYou must come and see us. Now I must push along, or father won’t trust\u000ame with his business any more. Good-bye!”\u000a\u000a“Good-bye,” he answered, raising his broad sombrero, and bending over\u000aher little hand. She wheeled her mustang round, gave it a cut with her\u000ariding-whip, and darted away down the broad road in a rolling cloud of\u000adust.\u000a\u000aYoung Jefferson Hope rode on with his companions, gloomy and taciturn.\u000aHe and they had been among the Nevada Mountains prospecting for silver,\u000aand were returning to Salt Lake City in the hope of raising capital\u000aenough to work some lodes which they had discovered. He had been as keen\u000aas any of them upon the business until this sudden incident had drawn\u000ahis thoughts into another channel. The sight of the fair young girl,\u000aas frank and wholesome as the Sierra breezes, had stirred his volcanic,\u000auntamed heart to its very depths. When she had vanished from his sight,\u000ahe realized that a crisis had come in his life, and that neither silver\u000aspeculations nor any other questions could ever be of such importance to\u000ahim as this new and all-absorbing one. The love which had sprung up in\u000ahis heart was not the sudden, changeable fancy of a boy, but rather the\u000awild, fierce passion of a man of strong will and imperious temper. He\u000ahad been accustomed to succeed in all that he undertook. He swore in\u000ahis heart that he would not fail in this if human effort and human\u000aperseverance could render him successful.\u000a\u000aHe called on John Ferrier that night, and many times again, until\u000ahis face was a familiar one at the farm-house. John, cooped up in the\u000avalley, and absorbed in his work, had had little chance of learning\u000athe news of the outside world during the last twelve years. All this\u000aJefferson Hope was able to tell him, and in a style which interested\u000aLucy as well as her father. He had been a pioneer in California, and\u000acould narrate many a strange tale of fortunes made and fortunes lost\u000ain those wild, halcyon days. He had been a scout too, and a trapper, a\u000asilver explorer, and a ranchman. Wherever stirring adventures were to be\u000ahad, Jefferson Hope had been there in search of them. He soon became a\u000afavourite with the old farmer, who spoke eloquently of his virtues. On\u000asuch occasions, Lucy was silent, but her blushing cheek and her bright,\u000ahappy eyes, showed only too clearly that her young heart was no longer\u000aher own. Her honest father may not have observed these symptoms,\u000abut they were assuredly not thrown away upon the man who had won her\u000aaffections.\u000a\u000aIt was a summer evening when he came galloping down the road and pulled\u000aup at the gate. She was at the doorway, and came down to meet him. He\u000athrew the bridle over the fence and strode up the pathway.\u000a\u000a“I am off, Lucy,” he said, taking her two hands in his, and gazing\u000atenderly down into her face; “I won’t ask you to come with me now, but\u000awill you be ready to come when I am here again?”\u000a\u000a“And when will that be?” she asked, blushing and laughing.\u000a\u000a“A couple of months at the outside. I will come and claim you then, my\u000adarling. There’s no one who can stand between us.”\u000a\u000a“And how about father?” she asked.\u000a\u000a“He has given his consent, provided we get these mines working all\u000aright. I have no fear on that head.”\u000a\u000a“Oh, well; of course, if you and father have arranged it all, there’s\u000ano more to be said,” she whispered, with her cheek against his broad\u000abreast.\u000a\u000a“Thank God!” he said, hoarsely, stooping and kissing her. “It is\u000asettled, then. The longer I stay, the harder it will be to go. They are\u000awaiting for me at the cañon. Good-bye, my own darling--good-bye. In two\u000amonths you shall see me.”\u000a\u000aHe tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flinging himself upon his\u000ahorse, galloped furiously away, never even looking round, as though\u000aafraid that his resolution might fail him if he took one glance at\u000awhat he was leaving. She stood at the gate, gazing after him until\u000ahe vanished from her sight. Then she walked back into the house, the\u000ahappiest girl in all Utah.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER III. JOHN FERRIER TALKS WITH THE PROPHET.\u000a\u000a\u000aTHREE weeks had passed since Jefferson Hope and his comrades had\u000adeparted from Salt Lake City. John Ferrier’s heart was sore within him\u000awhen he thought of the young man’s return, and of the impending loss of\u000ahis adopted child. Yet her bright and happy face reconciled him to\u000athe arrangement more than any argument could have done. He had always\u000adetermined, deep down in his resolute heart, that nothing would ever\u000ainduce him to allow his daughter to wed a Mormon. Such a marriage he\u000aregarded as no marriage at all, but as a shame and a disgrace. Whatever\u000ahe might think of the Mormon doctrines, upon that one point he was\u000ainflexible. He had to seal his mouth on the subject, however, for to\u000aexpress an unorthodox opinion was a dangerous matter in those days in\u000athe Land of the Saints.\u000a\u000aYes, a dangerous matter--so dangerous that even the most saintly dared\u000aonly whisper their religious opinions with bated breath, lest something\u000awhich fell from their lips might be misconstrued, and bring down a\u000aswift retribution upon them. The victims of persecution had now turned\u000apersecutors on their own account, and persecutors of the most\u000aterrible description. Not the Inquisition of Seville, nor the German\u000aVehm-gericht, nor the Secret Societies of Italy, were ever able to put\u000aa more formidable machinery in motion than that which cast a cloud over\u000athe State of Utah.\u000a\u000aIts invisibility, and the mystery which was attached to it, made\u000athis organization doubly terrible. It appeared to be omniscient and\u000aomnipotent, and yet was neither seen nor heard. The man who held out\u000aagainst the Church vanished away, and none knew whither he had gone or\u000awhat had befallen him. His wife and his children awaited him at home,\u000abut no father ever returned to tell them how he had fared at the\u000ahands of his secret judges. A rash word or a hasty act was followed\u000aby annihilation, and yet none knew what the nature might be of this\u000aterrible power which was suspended over them. No wonder that men\u000awent about in fear and trembling, and that even in the heart of the\u000awilderness they dared not whisper the doubts which oppressed them.\u000a\u000aAt first this vague and terrible power was exercised only upon the\u000arecalcitrants who, having embraced the Mormon faith, wished afterwards\u000ato pervert or to abandon it. Soon, however, it took a wider range. The\u000asupply of adult women was running short, and polygamy without a female\u000apopulation on which to draw was a barren doctrine indeed. Strange\u000arumours began to be bandied about--rumours of murdered immigrants and\u000arifled camps in regions where Indians had never been seen. Fresh women\u000aappeared in the harems of the Elders--women who pined and wept, and\u000abore upon their faces the traces of an unextinguishable horror. Belated\u000awanderers upon the mountains spoke of gangs of armed men, masked,\u000astealthy, and noiseless, who flitted by them in the darkness. These\u000atales and rumours took substance and shape, and were corroborated and\u000are-corroborated, until they resolved themselves into a definite name.\u000aTo this day, in the lonely ranches of the West, the name of the Danite\u000aBand, or the Avenging Angels, is a sinister and an ill-omened one.\u000a\u000aFuller knowledge of the organization which produced such terrible\u000aresults served to increase rather than to lessen the horror which it\u000ainspired in the minds of men. None knew who belonged to this ruthless\u000asociety. The names of the participators in the deeds of blood and\u000aviolence done under the name of religion were kept profoundly secret.\u000aThe very friend to whom you communicated your misgivings as to the\u000aProphet and his mission, might be one of those who would come forth at\u000anight with fire and sword to exact a terrible reparation. Hence every\u000aman feared his neighbour, and none spoke of the things which were\u000anearest his heart.\u000a\u000aOne fine morning, John Ferrier was about to set out to his wheatfields,\u000awhen he heard the click of the latch, and, looking through the window,\u000asaw a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged man coming up the pathway. His\u000aheart leapt to his mouth, for this was none other than the great Brigham\u000aYoung himself. Full of trepidation--for he knew that such a visit boded\u000ahim little good--Ferrier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief. The\u000alatter, however, received his salutations coldly, and followed him with\u000aa stern face into the sitting-room.\u000a\u000a“Brother Ferrier,” he said, taking a seat, and eyeing the farmer keenly\u000afrom under his light-coloured eyelashes, “the true believers have been\u000agood friends to you. We picked you up when you were starving in the\u000adesert, we shared our food with you, led you safe to the Chosen Valley,\u000agave you a goodly share of land, and allowed you to wax rich under our\u000aprotection. Is not this so?”\u000a\u000a“It is so,” answered John Ferrier.\u000a\u000a“In return for all this we asked but one condition: that was, that you\u000ashould embrace the true faith, and conform in every way to its usages.\u000aThis you promised to do, and this, if common report says truly, you have\u000aneglected.”\u000a\u000a“And how have I neglected it?” asked Ferrier, throwing out his hands in\u000aexpostulation. “Have I not given to the common fund? Have I not attended\u000aat the Temple? Have I not----?”\u000a\u000a“Where are your wives?” asked Young, looking round him. “Call them in,\u000athat I may greet them.”\u000a\u000a“It is true that I have not married,” Ferrier answered. “But women\u000awere few, and there were many who had better claims than I. I was not a\u000alonely man: I had my daughter to attend to my wants.”\u000a\u000a“It is of that daughter that I would speak to you,” said the leader\u000aof the Mormons. “She has grown to be the flower of Utah, and has found\u000afavour in the eyes of many who are high in the land.”\u000a\u000aJohn Ferrier groaned internally.\u000a\u000a“There are stories of her which I would fain disbelieve--stories that\u000ashe is sealed to some Gentile. This must be the gossip of idle tongues.\u000aWhat is the thirteenth rule in the code of the sainted Joseph Smith?\u000a‘Let every maiden of the true faith marry one of the elect; for if\u000ashe wed a Gentile, she commits a grievous sin.’ This being so, it is\u000aimpossible that you, who profess the holy creed, should suffer your\u000adaughter to violate it.”\u000a\u000aJohn Ferrier made no answer, but he played nervously with his\u000ariding-whip.\u000a\u000a“Upon this one point your whole faith shall be tested--so it has been\u000adecided in the Sacred Council of Four. The girl is young, and we would\u000anot have her wed grey hairs, neither would we deprive her of all\u000achoice. We Elders have many heifers, [29] but our children must also\u000abe provided. Stangerson has a son, and Drebber has a son, and either of\u000athem would gladly welcome your daughter to their house. Let her choose\u000abetween them. They are young and rich, and of the true faith. What say\u000ayou to that?”\u000a\u000aFerrier remained silent for some little time with his brows knitted.\u000a\u000a“You will give us time,” he said at last. “My daughter is very\u000ayoung--she is scarce of an age to marry.”\u000a\u000a“She shall have a month to choose,” said Young, rising from his seat.\u000a“At the end of that time she shall give her answer.”\u000a\u000aHe was passing through the door, when he turned, with flushed face and\u000aflashing eyes. “It were better for you, John Ferrier,” he thundered,\u000a“that you and she were now lying blanched skeletons upon the Sierra\u000aBlanco, than that you should put your weak wills against the orders of\u000athe Holy Four!”\u000a\u000aWith a threatening gesture of his hand, he turned from the door, and\u000aFerrier heard his heavy step scrunching along the shingly path.\u000a\u000aHe was still sitting with his elbows upon his knees, considering how he\u000ashould broach the matter to his daughter when a soft hand was laid upon\u000ahis, and looking up, he saw her standing beside him. One glance at her\u000apale, frightened face showed him that she had heard what had passed.\u000a\u000a“I could not help it,” she said, in answer to his look. “His voice rang\u000athrough the house. Oh, father, father, what shall we do?”\u000a\u000a“Don’t you scare yourself,” he answered, drawing her to him, and passing\u000ahis broad, rough hand caressingly over her chestnut hair. “We’ll fix it\u000aup somehow or another. You don’t find your fancy kind o’ lessening for\u000athis chap, do you?”\u000a\u000aA sob and a squeeze of his hand was her only answer.\u000a\u000a“No; of course not. I shouldn’t care to hear you say you did. He’s a\u000alikely lad, and he’s a Christian, which is more than these folk here, in\u000aspite o’ all their praying and preaching. There’s a party starting for\u000aNevada to-morrow, and I’ll manage to send him a message letting him know\u000athe hole we are in. If I know anything o’ that young man, he’ll be back\u000ahere with a speed that would whip electro-telegraphs.”\u000a\u000aLucy laughed through her tears at her father’s description.\u000a\u000a“When he comes, he will advise us for the best. But it is for you that\u000aI am frightened, dear. One hears--one hears such dreadful stories about\u000athose who oppose the Prophet: something terrible always happens to\u000athem.”\u000a\u000a“But we haven’t opposed him yet,” her father answered. “It will be time\u000ato look out for squalls when we do. We have a clear month before us; at\u000athe end of that, I guess we had best shin out of Utah.”\u000a\u000a“Leave Utah!”\u000a\u000a“That’s about the size of it.”\u000a\u000a“But the farm?”\u000a\u000a“We will raise as much as we can in money, and let the rest go. To tell\u000athe truth, Lucy, it isn’t the first time I have thought of doing it. I\u000adon’t care about knuckling under to any man, as these folk do to their\u000adarned prophet. I’m a free-born American, and it’s all new to me. Guess\u000aI’m too old to learn. If he comes browsing about this farm, he might\u000achance to run up against a charge of buckshot travelling in the opposite\u000adirection.”\u000a\u000a“But they won’t let us leave,” his daughter objected.\u000a\u000a“Wait till Jefferson comes, and we’ll soon manage that. In the meantime,\u000adon’t you fret yourself, my dearie, and don’t get your eyes swelled up,\u000aelse he’ll be walking into me when he sees you. There’s nothing to be\u000aafeared about, and there’s no danger at all.”\u000a\u000aJohn Ferrier uttered these consoling remarks in a very confident tone,\u000abut she could not help observing that he paid unusual care to the\u000afastening of the doors that night, and that he carefully cleaned and\u000aloaded the rusty old shotgun which hung upon the wall of his bedroom.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER IV. A FLIGHT FOR LIFE.\u000a\u000a\u000aON the morning which followed his interview with the Mormon Prophet,\u000aJohn Ferrier went in to Salt Lake City, and having found his\u000aacquaintance, who was bound for the Nevada Mountains, he entrusted him\u000awith his message to Jefferson Hope. In it he told the young man of the\u000aimminent danger which threatened them, and how necessary it was that he\u000ashould return. Having done thus he felt easier in his mind, and returned\u000ahome with a lighter heart.\u000a\u000aAs he approached his farm, he was surprised to see a horse hitched to\u000aeach of the posts of the gate. Still more surprised was he on entering\u000ato find two young men in possession of his sitting-room. One, with a\u000along pale face, was leaning back in the rocking-chair, with his feet\u000acocked up upon the stove. The other, a bull-necked youth with coarse\u000abloated features, was standing in front of the window with his hands in\u000ahis pocket, whistling a popular hymn. Both of them nodded to Ferrier as\u000ahe entered, and the one in the rocking-chair commenced the conversation.\u000a\u000a“Maybe you don’t know us,” he said. “This here is the son of Elder\u000aDrebber, and I’m Joseph Stangerson, who travelled with you in the desert\u000awhen the Lord stretched out His hand and gathered you into the true\u000afold.”\u000a\u000a“As He will all the nations in His own good time,” said the other in a\u000anasal voice; “He grindeth slowly but exceeding small.”\u000a\u000aJohn Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed who his visitors were.\u000a\u000a“We have come,” continued Stangerson, “at the advice of our fathers to\u000asolicit the hand of your daughter for whichever of us may seem good to\u000ayou and to her. As I have but four wives and Brother Drebber here has\u000aseven, it appears to me that my claim is the stronger one.”\u000a\u000a“Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson,” cried the other; “the question is not\u000ahow many wives we have, but how many we can keep. My father has now\u000agiven over his mills to me, and I am the richer man.”\u000a\u000a“But my prospects are better,” said the other, warmly. “When the\u000aLord removes my father, I shall have his tanning yard and his leather\u000afactory. Then I am your elder, and am higher in the Church.”\u000a\u000a“It will be for the maiden to decide,” rejoined young Drebber, smirking\u000aat his own reflection in the glass. “We will leave it all to her\u000adecision.”\u000a\u000aDuring this dialogue, John Ferrier had stood fuming in the doorway,\u000ahardly able to keep his riding-whip from the backs of his two visitors.\u000a\u000a“Look here,” he said at last, striding up to them, “when my daughter\u000asummons you, you can come, but until then I don’t want to see your faces\u000aagain.”\u000a\u000aThe two young Mormons stared at him in amazement. In their eyes this\u000acompetition between them for the maiden’s hand was the highest of\u000ahonours both to her and her father.\u000a\u000a“There are two ways out of the room,” cried Ferrier; “there is the door,\u000aand there is the window. Which do you care to use?”\u000a\u000aHis brown face looked so savage, and his gaunt hands so threatening,\u000athat his visitors sprang to their feet and beat a hurried retreat. The\u000aold farmer followed them to the door.\u000a\u000a“Let me know when you have settled which it is to be,” he said,\u000asardonically.\u000a\u000a“You shall smart for this!” Stangerson cried, white with rage. “You have\u000adefied the Prophet and the Council of Four. You shall rue it to the end\u000aof your days.”\u000a\u000a“The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you,” cried young Drebber; “He\u000awill arise and smite you!”\u000a\u000a“Then I’ll start the smiting,” exclaimed Ferrier furiously, and would\u000ahave rushed upstairs for his gun had not Lucy seized him by the arm and\u000arestrained him. Before he could escape from her, the clatter of horses’\u000ahoofs told him that they were beyond his reach.\u000a\u000a“The young canting rascals!” he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from\u000ahis forehead; “I would sooner see you in your grave, my girl, than the\u000awife of either of them.”\u000a\u000a“And so should I, father,” she answered, with spirit; “but Jefferson\u000awill soon be here.”\u000a\u000a“Yes. It will not be long before he comes. The sooner the better, for we\u000ado not know what their next move may be.”\u000a\u000aIt was, indeed, high time that someone capable of giving advice and\u000ahelp should come to the aid of the sturdy old farmer and his adopted\u000adaughter. In the whole history of the settlement there had never been\u000asuch a case of rank disobedience to the authority of the Elders. If\u000aminor errors were punished so sternly, what would be the fate of this\u000aarch rebel. Ferrier knew that his wealth and position would be of no\u000aavail to him. Others as well known and as rich as himself had been\u000aspirited away before now, and their goods given over to the Church. He\u000awas a brave man, but he trembled at the vague, shadowy terrors which\u000ahung over him. Any known danger he could face with a firm lip, but\u000athis suspense was unnerving. He concealed his fears from his daughter,\u000ahowever, and affected to make light of the whole matter, though she,\u000awith the keen eye of love, saw plainly that he was ill at ease.\u000a\u000aHe expected that he would receive some message or remonstrance from\u000aYoung as to his conduct, and he was not mistaken, though it came in an\u000aunlooked-for manner. Upon rising next morning he found, to his surprise,\u000aa small square of paper pinned on to the coverlet of his bed just over\u000ahis chest. On it was printed, in bold straggling letters:--\u000a\u000a“Twenty-nine days are given you for amendment, and then----”\u000a\u000aThe dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat could have been. How\u000athis warning came into his room puzzled John Ferrier sorely, for his\u000aservants slept in an outhouse, and the doors and windows had all been\u000asecured. He crumpled the paper up and said nothing to his daughter, but\u000athe incident struck a chill into his heart. The twenty-nine days were\u000aevidently the balance of the month which Young had promised. What\u000astrength or courage could avail against an enemy armed with such\u000amysterious powers? The hand which fastened that pin might have struck\u000ahim to the heart, and he could never have known who had slain him.\u000a\u000aStill more shaken was he next morning. They had sat down to their\u000abreakfast when Lucy with a cry of surprise pointed upwards. In the\u000acentre of the ceiling was scrawled, with a burned stick apparently,\u000athe number 28. To his daughter it was unintelligible, and he did not\u000aenlighten her. That night he sat up with his gun and kept watch and\u000award. He saw and he heard nothing, and yet in the morning a great 27 had\u000abeen painted upon the outside of his door.\u000a\u000aThus day followed day; and as sure as morning came he found that his\u000aunseen enemies had kept their register, and had marked up in some\u000aconspicuous position how many days were still left to him out of the\u000amonth of grace. Sometimes the fatal numbers appeared upon the walls,\u000asometimes upon the floors, occasionally they were on small placards\u000astuck upon the garden gate or the railings. With all his vigilance John\u000aFerrier could not discover whence these daily warnings proceeded. A\u000ahorror which was almost superstitious came upon him at the sight of\u000athem. He became haggard and restless, and his eyes had the troubled look\u000aof some hunted creature. He had but one hope in life now, and that was\u000afor the arrival of the young hunter from Nevada.\u000a\u000aTwenty had changed to fifteen and fifteen to ten, but there was no news\u000aof the absentee. One by one the numbers dwindled down, and still there\u000acame no sign of him. Whenever a horseman clattered down the road, or a\u000adriver shouted at his team, the old farmer hurried to the gate thinking\u000athat help had arrived at last. At last, when he saw five give way to\u000afour and that again to three, he lost heart, and abandoned all hope of\u000aescape. Single-handed, and with his limited knowledge of the mountains\u000awhich surrounded the settlement, he knew that he was powerless. The\u000amore-frequented roads were strictly watched and guarded, and none could\u000apass along them without an order from the Council. Turn which way he\u000awould, there appeared to be no avoiding the blow which hung over him.\u000aYet the old man never wavered in his resolution to part with life itself\u000abefore he consented to what he regarded as his daughter’s dishonour.\u000a\u000aHe was sitting alone one evening pondering deeply over his troubles, and\u000asearching vainly for some way out of them. That morning had shown the\u000afigure 2 upon the wall of his house, and the next day would be the last\u000aof the allotted time. What was to happen then? All manner of vague and\u000aterrible fancies filled his imagination. And his daughter--what was to\u000abecome of her after he was gone? Was there no escape from the invisible\u000anetwork which was drawn all round them. He sank his head upon the table\u000aand sobbed at the thought of his own impotence.\u000a\u000aWhat was that? In the silence he heard a gentle scratching sound--low,\u000abut very distinct in the quiet of the night. It came from the door of\u000athe house. Ferrier crept into the hall and listened intently. There\u000awas a pause for a few moments, and then the low insidious sound was\u000arepeated. Someone was evidently tapping very gently upon one of the\u000apanels of the door. Was it some midnight assassin who had come to carry\u000aout the murderous orders of the secret tribunal? Or was it some agent\u000awho was marking up that the last day of grace had arrived. John Ferrier\u000afelt that instant death would be better than the suspense which shook\u000ahis nerves and chilled his heart. Springing forward he drew the bolt and\u000athrew the door open.\u000a\u000aOutside all was calm and quiet. The night was fine, and the stars were\u000atwinkling brightly overhead. The little front garden lay before the\u000afarmer’s eyes bounded by the fence and gate, but neither there nor on\u000athe road was any human being to be seen. With a sigh of relief, Ferrier\u000alooked to right and to left, until happening to glance straight down at\u000ahis own feet he saw to his astonishment a man lying flat upon his face\u000aupon the ground, with arms and legs all asprawl.\u000a\u000aSo unnerved was he at the sight that he leaned up against the wall with\u000ahis hand to his throat to stifle his inclination to call out. His first\u000athought was that the prostrate figure was that of some wounded or dying\u000aman, but as he watched it he saw it writhe along the ground and into the\u000ahall with the rapidity and noiselessness of a serpent. Once within the\u000ahouse the man sprang to his feet, closed the door, and revealed to the\u000aastonished farmer the fierce face and resolute expression of Jefferson\u000aHope.\u000a\u000a“Good God!” gasped John Ferrier. “How you scared me! Whatever made you\u000acome in like that.”\u000a\u000a“Give me food,” the other said, hoarsely. “I have had no time for bite\u000aor sup for eight-and-forty hours.” He flung himself upon the [21] cold\u000ameat and bread which were still lying upon the table from his host’s\u000asupper, and devoured it voraciously. “Does Lucy bear up well?” he asked,\u000awhen he had satisfied his hunger.\u000a\u000a“Yes. She does not know the danger,” her father answered.\u000a\u000a“That is well. The house is watched on every side. That is why I crawled\u000amy way up to it. They may be darned sharp, but they’re not quite sharp\u000aenough to catch a Washoe hunter.”\u000a\u000aJohn Ferrier felt a different man now that he realized that he had\u000aa devoted ally. He seized the young man’s leathery hand and wrung it\u000acordially. “You’re a man to be proud of,” he said. “There are not many\u000awho would come to share our danger and our troubles.”\u000a\u000a“You’ve hit it there, pard,” the young hunter answered. “I have a\u000arespect for you, but if you were alone in this business I’d think twice\u000abefore I put my head into such a hornet’s nest. It’s Lucy that brings me\u000ahere, and before harm comes on her I guess there will be one less o’ the\u000aHope family in Utah.”\u000a\u000a“What are we to do?”\u000a\u000a“To-morrow is your last day, and unless you act to-night you are lost.\u000aI have a mule and two horses waiting in the Eagle Ravine. How much money\u000ahave you?”\u000a\u000a“Two thousand dollars in gold, and five in notes.”\u000a\u000a“That will do. I have as much more to add to it. We must push for Carson\u000aCity through the mountains. You had best wake Lucy. It is as well that\u000athe servants do not sleep in the house.”\u000a\u000aWhile Ferrier was absent, preparing his daughter for the approaching\u000ajourney, Jefferson Hope packed all the eatables that he could find into\u000aa small parcel, and filled a stoneware jar with water, for he knew by\u000aexperience that the mountain wells were few and far between. He had\u000ahardly completed his arrangements before the farmer returned with his\u000adaughter all dressed and ready for a start. The greeting between the\u000alovers was warm, but brief, for minutes were precious, and there was\u000amuch to be done.\u000a\u000a“We must make our start at once,” said Jefferson Hope, speaking in a low\u000abut resolute voice, like one who realizes the greatness of the peril,\u000abut has steeled his heart to meet it. “The front and back entrances are\u000awatched, but with caution we may get away through the side window and\u000aacross the fields. Once on the road we are only two miles from the\u000aRavine where the horses are waiting. By daybreak we should be half-way\u000athrough the mountains.”\u000a\u000a“What if we are stopped,” asked Ferrier.\u000a\u000aHope slapped the revolver butt which protruded from the front of his\u000atunic. “If they are too many for us we shall take two or three of them\u000awith us,” he said with a sinister smile.\u000a\u000aThe lights inside the house had all been extinguished, and from the\u000adarkened window Ferrier peered over the fields which had been his own,\u000aand which he was now about to abandon for ever. He had long nerved\u000ahimself to the sacrifice, however, and the thought of the honour and\u000ahappiness of his daughter outweighed any regret at his ruined fortunes.\u000aAll looked so peaceful and happy, the rustling trees and the broad\u000asilent stretch of grain-land, that it was difficult to realize that\u000athe spirit of murder lurked through it all. Yet the white face and set\u000aexpression of the young hunter showed that in his approach to the house\u000ahe had seen enough to satisfy him upon that head.\u000a\u000aFerrier carried the bag of gold and notes, Jefferson Hope had the scanty\u000aprovisions and water, while Lucy had a small bundle containing a few\u000aof her more valued possessions. Opening the window very slowly and\u000acarefully, they waited until a dark cloud had somewhat obscured the\u000anight, and then one by one passed through into the little garden. With\u000abated breath and crouching figures they stumbled across it, and gained\u000athe shelter of the hedge, which they skirted until they came to the gap\u000awhich opened into the cornfields. They had just reached this point when\u000athe young man seized his two companions and dragged them down into the\u000ashadow, where they lay silent and trembling.\u000a\u000aIt was as well that his prairie training had given Jefferson Hope the\u000aears of a lynx. He and his friends had hardly crouched down before the\u000amelancholy hooting of a mountain owl was heard within a few yards\u000aof them, which was immediately answered by another hoot at a small\u000adistance. At the same moment a vague shadowy figure emerged from the\u000agap for which they had been making, and uttered the plaintive signal cry\u000aagain, on which a second man appeared out of the obscurity.\u000a\u000a“To-morrow at midnight,” said the first who appeared to be in authority.\u000a“When the Whip-poor-Will calls three times.”\u000a\u000a“It is well,” returned the other. “Shall I tell Brother Drebber?”\u000a\u000a“Pass it on to him, and from him to the others. Nine to seven!”\u000a\u000a“Seven to five!” repeated the other, and the two figures flitted away\u000ain different directions. Their concluding words had evidently been some\u000aform of sign and countersign. The instant that their footsteps had died\u000aaway in the distance, Jefferson Hope sprang to his feet, and helping his\u000acompanions through the gap, led the way across the fields at the top\u000aof his speed, supporting and half-carrying the girl when her strength\u000aappeared to fail her.\u000a\u000a“Hurry on! hurry on!” he gasped from time to time. “We are through the\u000aline of sentinels. Everything depends on speed. Hurry on!”\u000a\u000aOnce on the high road they made rapid progress. Only once did they\u000ameet anyone, and then they managed to slip into a field, and so avoid\u000arecognition. Before reaching the town the hunter branched away into a\u000arugged and narrow footpath which led to the mountains. Two dark jagged\u000apeaks loomed above them through the darkness, and the defile which led\u000abetween them was the Eagle Cañon in which the horses were awaiting them.\u000aWith unerring instinct Jefferson Hope picked his way among the great\u000aboulders and along the bed of a dried-up watercourse, until he came to\u000athe retired corner, screened with rocks, where the faithful animals had\u000abeen picketed. The girl was placed upon the mule, and old Ferrier upon\u000aone of the horses, with his money-bag, while Jefferson Hope led the\u000aother along the precipitous and dangerous path.\u000a\u000aIt was a bewildering route for anyone who was not accustomed to face\u000aNature in her wildest moods. On the one side a great crag towered up a\u000athousand feet or more, black, stern, and menacing, with long basaltic\u000acolumns upon its rugged surface like the ribs of some petrified monster.\u000aOn the other hand a wild chaos of boulders and debris made all advance\u000aimpossible. Between the two ran the irregular track, so narrow in places\u000athat they had to travel in Indian file, and so rough that only practised\u000ariders could have traversed it at all. Yet in spite of all dangers and\u000adifficulties, the hearts of the fugitives were light within them,\u000afor every step increased the distance between them and the terrible\u000adespotism from which they were flying.\u000a\u000aThey soon had a proof, however, that they were still within the\u000ajurisdiction of the Saints. They had reached the very wildest and most\u000adesolate portion of the pass when the girl gave a startled cry, and\u000apointed upwards. On a rock which overlooked the track, showing out dark\u000aand plain against the sky, there stood a solitary sentinel. He saw them\u000aas soon as they perceived him, and his military challenge of “Who goes\u000athere?” rang through the silent ravine.\u000a\u000a“Travellers for Nevada,” said Jefferson Hope, with his hand upon the\u000arifle which hung by his saddle.\u000a\u000aThey could see the lonely watcher fingering his gun, and peering down at\u000athem as if dissatisfied at their reply.\u000a\u000a“By whose permission?” he asked.\u000a\u000a“The Holy Four,” answered Ferrier. His Mormon experiences had taught him\u000athat that was the highest authority to which he could refer.\u000a\u000a“Nine from seven,” cried the sentinel.\u000a\u000a“Seven from five,” returned Jefferson Hope promptly, remembering the\u000acountersign which he had heard in the garden.\u000a\u000a“Pass, and the Lord go with you,” said the voice from above. Beyond his\u000apost the path broadened out, and the horses were able to break into a\u000atrot. Looking back, they could see the solitary watcher leaning upon\u000ahis gun, and knew that they had passed the outlying post of the chosen\u000apeople, and that freedom lay before them.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER V. THE AVENGING ANGELS.\u000a\u000a\u000aALL night their course lay through intricate defiles and over irregular\u000aand rock-strewn paths. More than once they lost their way, but Hope’s\u000aintimate knowledge of the mountains enabled them to regain the track\u000aonce more. When morning broke, a scene of marvellous though savage\u000abeauty lay before them. In every direction the great snow-capped peaks\u000ahemmed them in, peeping over each other’s shoulders to the far horizon.\u000aSo steep were the rocky banks on either side of them, that the larch\u000aand the pine seemed to be suspended over their heads, and to need only a\u000agust of wind to come hurtling down upon them. Nor was the fear entirely\u000aan illusion, for the barren valley was thickly strewn with trees and\u000aboulders which had fallen in a similar manner. Even as they passed,\u000aa great rock came thundering down with a hoarse rattle which woke\u000athe echoes in the silent gorges, and startled the weary horses into a\u000agallop.\u000a\u000aAs the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon, the caps of the great\u000amountains lit up one after the other, like lamps at a festival, until\u000athey were all ruddy and glowing. The magnificent spectacle cheered the\u000ahearts of the three fugitives and gave them fresh energy. At a wild\u000atorrent which swept out of a ravine they called a halt and watered their\u000ahorses, while they partook of a hasty breakfast. Lucy and her father\u000awould fain have rested longer, but Jefferson Hope was inexorable. “They\u000awill be upon our track by this time,” he said. “Everything depends upon\u000aour speed. Once safe in Carson we may rest for the remainder of our\u000alives.”\u000a\u000aDuring the whole of that day they struggled on through the defiles, and\u000aby evening they calculated that they were more than thirty miles from\u000atheir enemies. At night-time they chose the base of a beetling crag,\u000awhere the rocks offered some protection from the chill wind, and there\u000ahuddled together for warmth, they enjoyed a few hours’ sleep. Before\u000adaybreak, however, they were up and on their way once more. They had\u000aseen no signs of any pursuers, and Jefferson Hope began to think that\u000athey were fairly out of the reach of the terrible organization whose\u000aenmity they had incurred. He little knew how far that iron grasp could\u000areach, or how soon it was to close upon them and crush them.\u000a\u000aAbout the middle of the second day of their flight their scanty store\u000aof provisions began to run out. This gave the hunter little uneasiness,\u000ahowever, for there was game to be had among the mountains, and he had\u000afrequently before had to depend upon his rifle for the needs of life.\u000aChoosing a sheltered nook, he piled together a few dried branches and\u000amade a blazing fire, at which his companions might warm themselves, for\u000athey were now nearly five thousand feet above the sea level, and the air\u000awas bitter and keen. Having tethered the horses, and bade Lucy adieu,\u000ahe threw his gun over his shoulder, and set out in search of whatever\u000achance might throw in his way. Looking back he saw the old man and the\u000ayoung girl crouching over the blazing fire, while the three animals\u000astood motionless in the back-ground. Then the intervening rocks hid them\u000afrom his view.\u000a\u000aHe walked for a couple of miles through one ravine after another without\u000asuccess, though from the marks upon the bark of the trees, and other\u000aindications, he judged that there were numerous bears in the vicinity.\u000aAt last, after two or three hours’ fruitless search, he was thinking of\u000aturning back in despair, when casting his eyes upwards he saw a sight\u000awhich sent a thrill of pleasure through his heart. On the edge of a\u000ajutting pinnacle, three or four hundred feet above him, there stood a\u000acreature somewhat resembling a sheep in appearance, but armed with a\u000apair of gigantic horns. The big-horn--for so it is called--was acting,\u000aprobably, as a guardian over a flock which were invisible to the hunter;\u000abut fortunately it was heading in the opposite direction, and had not\u000aperceived him. Lying on his face, he rested his rifle upon a rock, and\u000atook a long and steady aim before drawing the trigger. The animal sprang\u000ainto the air, tottered for a moment upon the edge of the precipice, and\u000athen came crashing down into the valley beneath.\u000a\u000aThe creature was too unwieldy to lift, so the hunter contented himself\u000awith cutting away one haunch and part of the flank. With this trophy\u000aover his shoulder, he hastened to retrace his steps, for the evening was\u000aalready drawing in. He had hardly started, however, before he realized\u000athe difficulty which faced him. In his eagerness he had wandered far\u000apast the ravines which were known to him, and it was no easy matter\u000ato pick out the path which he had taken. The valley in which he found\u000ahimself divided and sub-divided into many gorges, which were so like\u000aeach other that it was impossible to distinguish one from the other.\u000aHe followed one for a mile or more until he came to a mountain torrent\u000awhich he was sure that he had never seen before. Convinced that he had\u000ataken the wrong turn, he tried another, but with the same result. Night\u000awas coming on rapidly, and it was almost dark before he at last found\u000ahimself in a defile which was familiar to him. Even then it was no easy\u000amatter to keep to the right track, for the moon had not yet risen, and\u000athe high cliffs on either side made the obscurity more profound. Weighed\u000adown with his burden, and weary from his exertions, he stumbled along,\u000akeeping up his heart by the reflection that every step brought him\u000anearer to Lucy, and that he carried with him enough to ensure them food\u000afor the remainder of their journey.\u000a\u000aHe had now come to the mouth of the very defile in which he had left\u000athem. Even in the darkness he could recognize the outline of the cliffs\u000awhich bounded it. They must, he reflected, be awaiting him anxiously,\u000afor he had been absent nearly five hours. In the gladness of his heart\u000ahe put his hands to his mouth and made the glen re-echo to a loud halloo\u000aas a signal that he was coming. He paused and listened for an answer.\u000aNone came save his own cry, which clattered up the dreary silent\u000aravines, and was borne back to his ears in countless repetitions. Again\u000ahe shouted, even louder than before, and again no whisper came back from\u000athe friends whom he had left such a short time ago. A vague, nameless\u000adread came over him, and he hurried onwards frantically, dropping the\u000aprecious food in his agitation.\u000a\u000aWhen he turned the corner, he came full in sight of the spot where the\u000afire had been lit. There was still a glowing pile of wood ashes there,\u000abut it had evidently not been tended since his departure. The same\u000adead silence still reigned all round. With his fears all changed to\u000aconvictions, he hurried on. There was no living creature near the\u000aremains of the fire: animals, man, maiden, all were gone. It was only\u000atoo clear that some sudden and terrible disaster had occurred during\u000ahis absence--a disaster which had embraced them all, and yet had left no\u000atraces behind it.\u000a\u000aBewildered and stunned by this blow, Jefferson Hope felt his head spin\u000around, and had to lean upon his rifle to save himself from falling. He\u000awas essentially a man of action, however, and speedily recovered from\u000ahis temporary impotence. Seizing a half-consumed piece of wood from the\u000asmouldering fire, he blew it into a flame, and proceeded with its help\u000ato examine the little camp. The ground was all stamped down by the feet\u000aof horses, showing that a large party of mounted men had overtaken\u000athe fugitives, and the direction of their tracks proved that they had\u000aafterwards turned back to Salt Lake City. Had they carried back both of\u000ahis companions with them? Jefferson Hope had almost persuaded himself\u000athat they must have done so, when his eye fell upon an object which made\u000aevery nerve of his body tingle within him. A little way on one side of\u000athe camp was a low-lying heap of reddish soil, which had assuredly\u000anot been there before. There was no mistaking it for anything but a\u000anewly-dug grave. As the young hunter approached it, he perceived that a\u000astick had been planted on it, with a sheet of paper stuck in the cleft\u000afork of it. The inscription upon the paper was brief, but to the point:\u000a\u000a                        JOHN FERRIER,\u000a                 FORMERLY OF SALT LAKE CITY, [22]\u000a                    Died August 4th, 1860.\u000a\u000aThe sturdy old man, whom he had left so short a time before, was gone,\u000athen, and this was all his epitaph. Jefferson Hope looked wildly round\u000ato see if there was a second grave, but there was no sign of one. Lucy\u000ahad been carried back by their terrible pursuers to fulfil her original\u000adestiny, by becoming one of the harem of the Elder’s son. As the young\u000afellow realized the certainty of her fate, and his own powerlessness to\u000aprevent it, he wished that he, too, was lying with the old farmer in his\u000alast silent resting-place.\u000a\u000aAgain, however, his active spirit shook off the lethargy which springs\u000afrom despair. If there was nothing else left to him, he could at least\u000adevote his life to revenge. With indomitable patience and perseverance,\u000aJefferson Hope possessed also a power of sustained vindictiveness, which\u000ahe may have learned from the Indians amongst whom he had lived. As he\u000astood by the desolate fire, he felt that the only one thing which could\u000aassuage his grief would be thorough and complete retribution, brought\u000aby his own hand upon his enemies. His strong will and untiring energy\u000ashould, he determined, be devoted to that one end. With a grim, white\u000aface, he retraced his steps to where he had dropped the food, and having\u000astirred up the smouldering fire, he cooked enough to last him for a\u000afew days. This he made up into a bundle, and, tired as he was, he\u000aset himself to walk back through the mountains upon the track of the\u000aavenging angels.\u000a\u000aFor five days he toiled footsore and weary through the defiles which he\u000ahad already traversed on horseback. At night he flung himself down among\u000athe rocks, and snatched a few hours of sleep; but before daybreak he was\u000aalways well on his way. On the sixth day, he reached the Eagle Cañon,\u000afrom which they had commenced their ill-fated flight. Thence he could\u000alook down upon the home of the saints. Worn and exhausted, he leaned\u000aupon his rifle and shook his gaunt hand fiercely at the silent\u000awidespread city beneath him. As he looked at it, he observed that\u000athere were flags in some of the principal streets, and other signs of\u000afestivity. He was still speculating as to what this might mean when he\u000aheard the clatter of horse’s hoofs, and saw a mounted man riding towards\u000ahim. As he approached, he recognized him as a Mormon named Cowper, to\u000awhom he had rendered services at different times. He therefore accosted\u000ahim when he got up to him, with the object of finding out what Lucy\u000aFerrier’s fate had been.\u000a\u000a“I am Jefferson Hope,” he said. “You remember me.”\u000a\u000aThe Mormon looked at him with undisguised astonishment--indeed, it was\u000adifficult to recognize in this tattered, unkempt wanderer, with ghastly\u000awhite face and fierce, wild eyes, the spruce young hunter of former\u000adays. Having, however, at last, satisfied himself as to his identity,\u000athe man’s surprise changed to consternation.\u000a\u000a“You are mad to come here,” he cried. “It is as much as my own life is\u000aworth to be seen talking with you. There is a warrant against you from\u000athe Holy Four for assisting the Ferriers away.”\u000a\u000a“I don’t fear them, or their warrant,” Hope said, earnestly. “You must\u000aknow something of this matter, Cowper. I conjure you by everything you\u000ahold dear to answer a few questions. We have always been friends. For\u000aGod’s sake, don’t refuse to answer me.”\u000a\u000a“What is it?” the Mormon asked uneasily. “Be quick. The very rocks have\u000aears and the trees eyes.”\u000a\u000a“What has become of Lucy Ferrier?”\u000a\u000a“She was married yesterday to young Drebber. Hold up, man, hold up, you\u000ahave no life left in you.”\u000a\u000a“Don’t mind me,” said Hope faintly. He was white to the very lips, and\u000ahad sunk down on the stone against which he had been leaning. “Married,\u000ayou say?”\u000a\u000a“Married yesterday--that’s what those flags are for on the Endowment\u000aHouse. There was some words between young Drebber and young Stangerson\u000aas to which was to have her. They’d both been in the party that followed\u000athem, and Stangerson had shot her father, which seemed to give him the\u000abest claim; but when they argued it out in council, Drebber’s party was\u000athe stronger, so the Prophet gave her over to him. No one won’t have\u000aher very long though, for I saw death in her face yesterday. She is more\u000alike a ghost than a woman. Are you off, then?”\u000a\u000a“Yes, I am off,” said Jefferson Hope, who had risen from his seat. His\u000aface might have been chiselled out of marble, so hard and set was its\u000aexpression, while its eyes glowed with a baleful light.\u000a\u000a“Where are you going?”\u000a\u000a“Never mind,” he answered; and, slinging his weapon over his shoulder,\u000astrode off down the gorge and so away into the heart of the mountains to\u000athe haunts of the wild beasts. Amongst them all there was none so fierce\u000aand so dangerous as himself.\u000a\u000aThe prediction of the Mormon was only too well fulfilled. Whether it was\u000athe terrible death of her father or the effects of the hateful marriage\u000ainto which she had been forced, poor Lucy never held up her head again,\u000abut pined away and died within a month. Her sottish husband, who had\u000amarried her principally for the sake of John Ferrier’s property, did not\u000aaffect any great grief at his bereavement; but his other wives mourned\u000aover her, and sat up with her the night before the burial, as is the\u000aMormon custom. They were grouped round the bier in the early hours of\u000athe morning, when, to their inexpressible fear and astonishment,\u000athe door was flung open, and a savage-looking, weather-beaten man in\u000atattered garments strode into the room. Without a glance or a word to\u000athe cowering women, he walked up to the white silent figure which had\u000aonce contained the pure soul of Lucy Ferrier. Stooping over her, he\u000apressed his lips reverently to her cold forehead, and then, snatching\u000aup her hand, he took the wedding-ring from her finger. “She shall not be\u000aburied in that,” he cried with a fierce snarl, and before an alarm could\u000abe raised sprang down the stairs and was gone. So strange and so brief\u000awas the episode, that the watchers might have found it hard to believe\u000ait themselves or persuade other people of it, had it not been for the\u000aundeniable fact that the circlet of gold which marked her as having been\u000aa bride had disappeared.\u000a\u000aFor some months Jefferson Hope lingered among the mountains, leading\u000aa strange wild life, and nursing in his heart the fierce desire for\u000avengeance which possessed him. Tales were told in the City of the weird\u000afigure which was seen prowling about the suburbs, and which haunted\u000athe lonely mountain gorges. Once a bullet whistled through Stangerson’s\u000awindow and flattened itself upon the wall within a foot of him. On\u000aanother occasion, as Drebber passed under a cliff a great boulder\u000acrashed down on him, and he only escaped a terrible death by throwing\u000ahimself upon his face. The two young Mormons were not long in\u000adiscovering the reason of these attempts upon their lives, and led\u000arepeated expeditions into the mountains in the hope of capturing or\u000akilling their enemy, but always without success. Then they adopted the\u000aprecaution of never going out alone or after nightfall, and of having\u000atheir houses guarded. After a time they were able to relax these\u000ameasures, for nothing was either heard or seen of their opponent, and\u000athey hoped that time had cooled his vindictiveness.\u000a\u000aFar from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it. The hunter’s mind\u000awas of a hard, unyielding nature, and the predominant idea of revenge\u000ahad taken such complete possession of it that there was no room for\u000aany other emotion. He was, however, above all things practical. He soon\u000arealized that even his iron constitution could not stand the incessant\u000astrain which he was putting upon it. Exposure and want of wholesome food\u000awere wearing him out. If he died like a dog among the mountains, what\u000awas to become of his revenge then? And yet such a death was sure to\u000aovertake him if he persisted. He felt that that was to play his enemy’s\u000agame, so he reluctantly returned to the old Nevada mines, there to\u000arecruit his health and to amass money enough to allow him to pursue his\u000aobject without privation.\u000a\u000aHis intention had been to be absent a year at the most, but a\u000acombination of unforeseen circumstances prevented his leaving the mines\u000afor nearly five. At the end of that time, however, his memory of\u000ahis wrongs and his craving for revenge were quite as keen as on that\u000amemorable night when he had stood by John Ferrier’s grave. Disguised,\u000aand under an assumed name, he returned to Salt Lake City, careless\u000awhat became of his own life, as long as he obtained what he knew to\u000abe justice. There he found evil tidings awaiting him. There had been a\u000aschism among the Chosen People a few months before, some of the younger\u000amembers of the Church having rebelled against the authority of the\u000aElders, and the result had been the secession of a certain number of the\u000amalcontents, who had left Utah and become Gentiles. Among these had been\u000aDrebber and Stangerson; and no one knew whither they had gone. Rumour\u000areported that Drebber had managed to convert a large part of his\u000aproperty into money, and that he had departed a wealthy man, while his\u000acompanion, Stangerson, was comparatively poor. There was no clue at all,\u000ahowever, as to their whereabouts.\u000a\u000aMany a man, however vindictive, would have abandoned all thought of\u000arevenge in the face of such a difficulty, but Jefferson Hope never\u000afaltered for a moment. With the small competence he possessed, eked out\u000aby such employment as he could pick up, he travelled from town to town\u000athrough the United States in quest of his enemies. Year passed into\u000ayear, his black hair turned grizzled, but still he wandered on, a human\u000abloodhound, with his mind wholly set upon the one object upon which he\u000ahad devoted his life. At last his perseverance was rewarded. It was\u000abut a glance of a face in a window, but that one glance told him that\u000aCleveland in Ohio possessed the men whom he was in pursuit of. He\u000areturned to his miserable lodgings with his plan of vengeance all\u000aarranged. It chanced, however, that Drebber, looking from his window,\u000ahad recognized the vagrant in the street, and had read murder in\u000ahis eyes. He hurried before a justice of the peace, accompanied by\u000aStangerson, who had become his private secretary, and represented to him\u000athat they were in danger of their lives from the jealousy and hatred of\u000aan old rival. That evening Jefferson Hope was taken into custody, and\u000anot being able to find sureties, was detained for some weeks. When at\u000alast he was liberated, it was only to find that Drebber’s house was\u000adeserted, and that he and his secretary had departed for Europe.\u000a\u000aAgain the avenger had been foiled, and again his concentrated hatred\u000aurged him to continue the pursuit. Funds were wanting, however, and\u000afor some time he had to return to work, saving every dollar for his\u000aapproaching journey. At last, having collected enough to keep life in\u000ahim, he departed for Europe, and tracked his enemies from city to\u000acity, working his way in any menial capacity, but never overtaking the\u000afugitives. When he reached St. Petersburg they had departed for Paris;\u000aand when he followed them there he learned that they had just set off\u000afor Copenhagen. At the Danish capital he was again a few days late, for\u000athey had journeyed on to London, where he at last succeeded in running\u000athem to earth. As to what occurred there, we cannot do better than quote\u000athe old hunter’s own account, as duly recorded in Dr. Watson’s Journal,\u000ato which we are already under such obligations.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER VI. A CONTINUATION OF THE REMINISCENCES OF JOHN WATSON, M.D.\u000a\u000a\u000aOUR prisoner’s furious resistance did not apparently indicate any\u000aferocity in his disposition towards ourselves, for on finding himself\u000apowerless, he smiled in an affable manner, and expressed his hopes that\u000ahe had not hurt any of us in the scuffle. “I guess you’re going to take\u000ame to the police-station,” he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. “My cab’s at\u000athe door. If you’ll loose my legs I’ll walk down to it. I’m not so light\u000ato lift as I used to be.”\u000a\u000aGregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if they thought this\u000aproposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took the prisoner at\u000ahis word, and loosened the towel which we had bound round his ancles.\u000a[23] He rose and stretched his legs, as though to assure himself that\u000athey were free once more. I remember that I thought to myself, as I eyed\u000ahim, that I had seldom seen a more powerfully built man; and his dark\u000asunburned face bore an expression of determination and energy which was\u000aas formidable as his personal strength.\u000a\u000a“If there’s a vacant place for a chief of the police, I reckon you\u000aare the man for it,” he said, gazing with undisguised admiration at my\u000afellow-lodger. “The way you kept on my trail was a caution.”\u000a\u000a“You had better come with me,” said Holmes to the two detectives.\u000a\u000a“I can drive you,” said Lestrade.\u000a\u000a“Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You too, Doctor, you have\u000ataken an interest in the case and may as well stick to us.”\u000a\u000aI assented gladly, and we all descended together. Our prisoner made no\u000aattempt at escape, but stepped calmly into the cab which had been his,\u000aand we followed him. Lestrade mounted the box, whipped up the horse, and\u000abrought us in a very short time to our destination. We were ushered into\u000aa small chamber where a police Inspector noted down our prisoner’s name\u000aand the names of the men with whose murder he had been charged. The\u000aofficial was a white-faced unemotional man, who went through his\u000aduties in a dull mechanical way. “The prisoner will be put before the\u000amagistrates in the course of the week,” he said; “in the mean time, Mr.\u000aJefferson Hope, have you anything that you wish to say? I must warn you\u000athat your words will be taken down, and may be used against you.”\u000a\u000a“I’ve got a good deal to say,” our prisoner said slowly. “I want to tell\u000ayou gentlemen all about it.”\u000a\u000a“Hadn’t you better reserve that for your trial?” asked the Inspector.\u000a\u000a“I may never be tried,” he answered. “You needn’t look startled. It\u000aisn’t suicide I am thinking of. Are you a Doctor?” He turned his fierce\u000adark eyes upon me as he asked this last question.\u000a\u000a“Yes; I am,” I answered.\u000a\u000a“Then put your hand here,” he said, with a smile, motioning with his\u000amanacled wrists towards his chest.\u000a\u000aI did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinary throbbing and\u000acommotion which was going on inside. The walls of his chest seemed to\u000athrill and quiver as a frail building would do inside when some powerful\u000aengine was at work. In the silence of the room I could hear a dull\u000ahumming and buzzing noise which proceeded from the same source.\u000a\u000a“Why,” I cried, “you have an aortic aneurism!”\u000a\u000a“That’s what they call it,” he said, placidly. “I went to a Doctor last\u000aweek about it, and he told me that it is bound to burst before many days\u000apassed. It has been getting worse for years. I got it from over-exposure\u000aand under-feeding among the Salt Lake Mountains. I’ve done my work now,\u000aand I don’t care how soon I go, but I should like to leave some account\u000aof the business behind me. I don’t want to be remembered as a common\u000acut-throat.”\u000a\u000aThe Inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion as to the\u000aadvisability of allowing him to tell his story.\u000a\u000a“Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger?” the former\u000aasked, [24]\u000a\u000a“Most certainly there is,” I answered.\u000a\u000a“In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests of justice, to\u000atake his statement,” said the Inspector. “You are at liberty, sir, to\u000agive your account, which I again warn you will be taken down.”\u000a\u000a“I’ll sit down, with your leave,” the prisoner said, suiting the action\u000ato the word. “This aneurism of mine makes me easily tired, and the\u000atussle we had half an hour ago has not mended matters. I’m on the brink\u000aof the grave, and I am not likely to lie to you. Every word I say is the\u000aabsolute truth, and how you use it is a matter of no consequence to me.”\u000a\u000aWith these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his chair and began\u000athe following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calm and methodical\u000amanner, as though the events which he narrated were commonplace enough.\u000aI can vouch for the accuracy of the subjoined account, for I have had\u000aaccess to Lestrade’s note-book, in which the prisoner’s words were taken\u000adown exactly as they were uttered.\u000a\u000a“It don’t much matter to you why I hated these men,” he said; “it’s\u000aenough that they were guilty of the death of two human beings--a father\u000aand a daughter--and that they had, therefore, forfeited their own\u000alives. After the lapse of time that has passed since their crime, it was\u000aimpossible for me to secure a conviction against them in any court. I\u000aknew of their guilt though, and I determined that I should be judge,\u000ajury, and executioner all rolled into one. You’d have done the same, if\u000ayou have any manhood in you, if you had been in my place.\u000a\u000a“That girl that I spoke of was to have married me twenty years ago. She\u000awas forced into marrying that same Drebber, and broke her heart over\u000ait. I took the marriage ring from her dead finger, and I vowed that his\u000adying eyes should rest upon that very ring, and that his last thoughts\u000ashould be of the crime for which he was punished. I have carried\u000ait about with me, and have followed him and his accomplice over two\u000acontinents until I caught them. They thought to tire me out, but they\u000acould not do it. If I die to-morrow, as is likely enough, I die knowing\u000athat my work in this world is done, and well done. They have perished,\u000aand by my hand. There is nothing left for me to hope for, or to desire.\u000a\u000a“They were rich and I was poor, so that it was no easy matter for me to\u000afollow them. When I got to London my pocket was about empty, and I found\u000athat I must turn my hand to something for my living. Driving and riding\u000aare as natural to me as walking, so I applied at a cabowner’s office,\u000aand soon got employment. I was to bring a certain sum a week to the\u000aowner, and whatever was over that I might keep for myself. There was\u000aseldom much over, but I managed to scrape along somehow. The hardest job\u000awas to learn my way about, for I reckon that of all the mazes that ever\u000awere contrived, this city is the most confusing. I had a map beside me\u000athough, and when once I had spotted the principal hotels and stations, I\u000agot on pretty well.\u000a\u000a“It was some time before I found out where my two gentlemen were living;\u000abut I inquired and inquired until at last I dropped across them. They\u000awere at a boarding-house at Camberwell, over on the other side of the\u000ariver. When once I found them out I knew that I had them at my mercy. I\u000ahad grown my beard, and there was no chance of their recognizing me.\u000aI would dog them and follow them until I saw my opportunity. I was\u000adetermined that they should not escape me again.\u000a\u000a“They were very near doing it for all that. Go where they would about\u000aLondon, I was always at their heels. Sometimes I followed them on my\u000acab, and sometimes on foot, but the former was the best, for then they\u000acould not get away from me. It was only early in the morning or late\u000aat night that I could earn anything, so that I began to get behind hand\u000awith my employer. I did not mind that, however, as long as I could lay\u000amy hand upon the men I wanted.\u000a\u000a“They were very cunning, though. They must have thought that there was\u000asome chance of their being followed, for they would never go out alone,\u000aand never after nightfall. During two weeks I drove behind them every\u000aday, and never once saw them separate. Drebber himself was drunk half\u000athe time, but Stangerson was not to be caught napping. I watched them\u000alate and early, but never saw the ghost of a chance; but I was not\u000adiscouraged, for something told me that the hour had almost come. My\u000aonly fear was that this thing in my chest might burst a little too soon\u000aand leave my work undone.\u000a\u000a“At last, one evening I was driving up and down Torquay Terrace, as the\u000astreet was called in which they boarded, when I saw a cab drive up to\u000atheir door. Presently some luggage was brought out, and after a time\u000aDrebber and Stangerson followed it, and drove off. I whipped up my horse\u000aand kept within sight of them, feeling very ill at ease, for I feared\u000athat they were going to shift their quarters. At Euston Station they\u000agot out, and I left a boy to hold my horse, and followed them on to the\u000aplatform. I heard them ask for the Liverpool train, and the guard answer\u000athat one had just gone and there would not be another for some hours.\u000aStangerson seemed to be put out at that, but Drebber was rather pleased\u000athan otherwise. I got so close to them in the bustle that I could hear\u000aevery word that passed between them. Drebber said that he had a little\u000abusiness of his own to do, and that if the other would wait for him he\u000awould soon rejoin him. His companion remonstrated with him, and reminded\u000ahim that they had resolved to stick together. Drebber answered that the\u000amatter was a delicate one, and that he must go alone. I could not catch\u000awhat Stangerson said to that, but the other burst out swearing, and\u000areminded him that he was nothing more than his paid servant, and that he\u000amust not presume to dictate to him. On that the Secretary gave it up\u000aas a bad job, and simply bargained with him that if he missed the last\u000atrain he should rejoin him at Halliday’s Private Hotel; to which Drebber\u000aanswered that he would be back on the platform before eleven, and made\u000ahis way out of the station.\u000a\u000a“The moment for which I had waited so long had at last come. I had my\u000aenemies within my power. Together they could protect each other,\u000abut singly they were at my mercy. I did not act, however, with undue\u000aprecipitation. My plans were already formed. There is no satisfaction in\u000avengeance unless the offender has time to realize who it is that strikes\u000ahim, and why retribution has come upon him. I had my plans arranged by\u000awhich I should have the opportunity of making the man who had wronged me\u000aunderstand that his old sin had found him out. It chanced that some days\u000abefore a gentleman who had been engaged in looking over some houses in\u000athe Brixton Road had dropped the key of one of them in my carriage. It\u000awas claimed that same evening, and returned; but in the interval I had\u000ataken a moulding of it, and had a duplicate constructed. By means of\u000athis I had access to at least one spot in this great city where I could\u000arely upon being free from interruption. How to get Drebber to that house\u000awas the difficult problem which I had now to solve.\u000a\u000a“He walked down the road and went into one or two liquor shops, staying\u000afor nearly half-an-hour in the last of them. When he came out he\u000astaggered in his walk, and was evidently pretty well on. There was a\u000ahansom just in front of me, and he hailed it. I followed it so close\u000athat the nose of my horse was within a yard of his driver the whole way.\u000aWe rattled across Waterloo Bridge and through miles of streets, until,\u000ato my astonishment, we found ourselves back in the Terrace in which he\u000ahad boarded. I could not imagine what his intention was in returning\u000athere; but I went on and pulled up my cab a hundred yards or so from\u000athe house. He entered it, and his hansom drove away. Give me a glass of\u000awater, if you please. My mouth gets dry with the talking.”\u000a\u000aI handed him the glass, and he drank it down.\u000a\u000a“That’s better,” he said. “Well, I waited for a quarter of an hour, or\u000amore, when suddenly there came a noise like people struggling inside the\u000ahouse. Next moment the door was flung open and two men appeared, one of\u000awhom was Drebber, and the other was a young chap whom I had never seen\u000abefore. This fellow had Drebber by the collar, and when they came to\u000athe head of the steps he gave him a shove and a kick which sent him half\u000aacross the road. ‘You hound,’ he cried, shaking his stick at him; ‘I’ll\u000ateach you to insult an honest girl!’ He was so hot that I think he would\u000ahave thrashed Drebber with his cudgel, only that the cur staggered away\u000adown the road as fast as his legs would carry him. He ran as far as the\u000acorner, and then, seeing my cab, he hailed me and jumped in. ‘Drive me\u000ato Halliday’s Private Hotel,’ said he.\u000a\u000a“When I had him fairly inside my cab, my heart jumped so with joy that\u000aI feared lest at this last moment my aneurism might go wrong. I drove\u000aalong slowly, weighing in my own mind what it was best to do. I might\u000atake him right out into the country, and there in some deserted lane\u000ahave my last interview with him. I had almost decided upon this, when he\u000asolved the problem for me. The craze for drink had seized him again, and\u000ahe ordered me to pull up outside a gin palace. He went in, leaving word\u000athat I should wait for him. There he remained until closing time, and\u000awhen he came out he was so far gone that I knew the game was in my own\u000ahands.\u000a\u000a“Don’t imagine that I intended to kill him in cold blood. It would only\u000ahave been rigid justice if I had done so, but I could not bring myself\u000ato do it. I had long determined that he should have a show for his life\u000aif he chose to take advantage of it. Among the many billets which I\u000ahave filled in America during my wandering life, I was once janitor and\u000asweeper out of the laboratory at York College. One day the professor was\u000alecturing on poisions, [25] and he showed his students some alkaloid,\u000aas he called it, which he had extracted from some South American arrow\u000apoison, and which was so powerful that the least grain meant instant\u000adeath. I spotted the bottle in which this preparation was kept, and when\u000athey were all gone, I helped myself to a little of it. I was a fairly\u000agood dispenser, so I worked this alkaloid into small, soluble pills, and\u000aeach pill I put in a box with a similar pill made without the poison.\u000aI determined at the time that when I had my chance, my gentlemen should\u000aeach have a draw out of one of these boxes, while I ate the pill that\u000aremained. It would be quite as deadly, and a good deal less noisy than\u000afiring across a handkerchief. From that day I had always my pill boxes\u000aabout with me, and the time had now come when I was to use them.\u000a\u000a“It was nearer one than twelve, and a wild, bleak night, blowing hard\u000aand raining in torrents. Dismal as it was outside, I was glad within--so\u000aglad that I could have shouted out from pure exultation. If any of you\u000agentlemen have ever pined for a thing, and longed for it during twenty\u000along years, and then suddenly found it within your reach, you would\u000aunderstand my feelings. I lit a cigar, and puffed at it to steady my\u000anerves, but my hands were trembling, and my temples throbbing with\u000aexcitement. As I drove, I could see old John Ferrier and sweet Lucy\u000alooking at me out of the darkness and smiling at me, just as plain as I\u000asee you all in this room. All the way they were ahead of me, one on each\u000aside of the horse until I pulled up at the house in the Brixton Road.\u000a\u000a“There was not a soul to be seen, nor a sound to be heard, except the\u000adripping of the rain. When I looked in at the window, I found Drebber\u000aall huddled together in a drunken sleep. I shook him by the arm, ‘It’s\u000atime to get out,’ I said.\u000a\u000a“‘All right, cabby,’ said he.\u000a\u000a“I suppose he thought we had come to the hotel that he had mentioned,\u000afor he got out without another word, and followed me down the garden.\u000aI had to walk beside him to keep him steady, for he was still a little\u000atop-heavy. When we came to the door, I opened it, and led him into the\u000afront room. I give you my word that all the way, the father and the\u000adaughter were walking in front of us.\u000a\u000a“‘It’s infernally dark,’ said he, stamping about.\u000a\u000a“‘We’ll soon have a light,’ I said, striking a match and putting it to\u000aa wax candle which I had brought with me. ‘Now, Enoch Drebber,’ I\u000acontinued, turning to him, and holding the light to my own face, ‘who am\u000aI?’\u000a\u000a“He gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes for a moment, and then I\u000asaw a horror spring up in them, and convulse his whole features, which\u000ashowed me that he knew me. He staggered back with a livid face, and I\u000asaw the perspiration break out upon his brow, while his teeth chattered\u000ain his head. At the sight, I leaned my back against the door and laughed\u000aloud and long. I had always known that vengeance would be sweet, but I\u000ahad never hoped for the contentment of soul which now possessed me.\u000a\u000a“‘You dog!’ I said; ‘I have hunted you from Salt Lake City to St.\u000aPetersburg, and you have always escaped me. Now, at last your wanderings\u000ahave come to an end, for either you or I shall never see to-morrow’s sun\u000arise.’ He shrunk still further away as I spoke, and I could see on his\u000aface that he thought I was mad. So I was for the time. The pulses in my\u000atemples beat like sledge-hammers, and I believe I would have had a fit\u000aof some sort if the blood had not gushed from my nose and relieved me.\u000a\u000a“‘What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now?’ I cried, locking the door, and\u000ashaking the key in his face. ‘Punishment has been slow in coming, but it\u000ahas overtaken you at last.’ I saw his coward lips tremble as I spoke. He\u000awould have begged for his life, but he knew well that it was useless.\u000a\u000a“‘Would you murder me?’ he stammered.\u000a\u000a“‘There is no murder,’ I answered. ‘Who talks of murdering a mad dog?\u000aWhat mercy had you upon my poor darling, when you dragged her from her\u000aslaughtered father, and bore her away to your accursed and shameless\u000aharem.’\u000a\u000a“‘It was not I who killed her father,’ he cried.\u000a\u000a“‘But it was you who broke her innocent heart,’ I shrieked, thrusting\u000athe box before him. ‘Let the high God judge between us. Choose and\u000aeat. There is death in one and life in the other. I shall take what you\u000aleave. Let us see if there is justice upon the earth, or if we are ruled\u000aby chance.’\u000a\u000a“He cowered away with wild cries and prayers for mercy, but I drew my\u000aknife and held it to his throat until he had obeyed me. Then I swallowed\u000athe other, and we stood facing one another in silence for a minute or\u000amore, waiting to see which was to live and which was to die. Shall I\u000aever forget the look which came over his face when the first warning\u000apangs told him that the poison was in his system? I laughed as I saw\u000ait, and held Lucy’s marriage ring in front of his eyes. It was but for\u000aa moment, for the action of the alkaloid is rapid. A spasm of pain\u000acontorted his features; he threw his hands out in front of him,\u000astaggered, and then, with a hoarse cry, fell heavily upon the floor. I\u000aturned him over with my foot, and placed my hand upon his heart. There\u000awas no movement. He was dead!\u000a\u000a“The blood had been streaming from my nose, but I had taken no notice of\u000ait. I don’t know what it was that put it into my head to write upon the\u000awall with it. Perhaps it was some mischievous idea of setting the police\u000aupon a wrong track, for I felt light-hearted and cheerful. I remembered\u000aa German being found in New York with RACHE written up above him, and it\u000awas argued at the time in the newspapers that the secret societies must\u000ahave done it. I guessed that what puzzled the New Yorkers would puzzle\u000athe Londoners, so I dipped my finger in my own blood and printed it on\u000aa convenient place on the wall. Then I walked down to my cab and found\u000athat there was nobody about, and that the night was still very wild. I\u000ahad driven some distance when I put my hand into the pocket in which\u000aI usually kept Lucy’s ring, and found that it was not there. I was\u000athunderstruck at this, for it was the only memento that I had of her.\u000aThinking that I might have dropped it when I stooped over Drebber’s\u000abody, I drove back, and leaving my cab in a side street, I went boldly\u000aup to the house--for I was ready to dare anything rather than lose\u000athe ring. When I arrived there, I walked right into the arms of a\u000apolice-officer who was coming out, and only managed to disarm his\u000asuspicions by pretending to be hopelessly drunk.\u000a\u000a“That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end. All I had to do then was\u000ato do as much for Stangerson, and so pay off John Ferrier’s debt. I knew\u000athat he was staying at Halliday’s Private Hotel, and I hung about all\u000aday, but he never came out. [26] fancy that he suspected something when\u000aDrebber failed to put in an appearance. He was cunning, was Stangerson,\u000aand always on his guard. If he thought he could keep me off by staying\u000aindoors he was very much mistaken. I soon found out which was the window\u000aof his bedroom, and early next morning I took advantage of some ladders\u000awhich were lying in the lane behind the hotel, and so made my way into\u000ahis room in the grey of the dawn. I woke him up and told him that the\u000ahour had come when he was to answer for the life he had taken so long\u000abefore. I described Drebber’s death to him, and I gave him the same\u000achoice of the poisoned pills. Instead of grasping at the chance of\u000asafety which that offered him, he sprang from his bed and flew at my\u000athroat. In self-defence I stabbed him to the heart. It would have been\u000athe same in any case, for Providence would never have allowed his guilty\u000ahand to pick out anything but the poison.\u000a\u000a“I have little more to say, and it’s as well, for I am about done up.\u000aI went on cabbing it for a day or so, intending to keep at it until I\u000acould save enough to take me back to America. I was standing in the\u000ayard when a ragged youngster asked if there was a cabby there called\u000aJefferson Hope, and said that his cab was wanted by a gentleman at 221B,\u000aBaker Street. I went round, suspecting no harm, and the next thing I\u000aknew, this young man here had the bracelets on my wrists, and as neatly\u000asnackled [27] as ever I saw in my life. That’s the whole of my story,\u000agentlemen. You may consider me to be a murderer; but I hold that I am\u000ajust as much an officer of justice as you are.”\u000a\u000aSo thrilling had the man’s narrative been, and his manner was so\u000aimpressive that we had sat silent and absorbed. Even the professional\u000adetectives, _blasé_ as they were in every detail of crime, appeared to\u000abe keenly interested in the man’s story. When he finished we sat for\u000asome minutes in a stillness which was only broken by the scratching\u000aof Lestrade’s pencil as he gave the finishing touches to his shorthand\u000aaccount.\u000a\u000a“There is only one point on which I should like a little more\u000ainformation,” Sherlock Holmes said at last. “Who was your accomplice who\u000acame for the ring which I advertised?”\u000a\u000aThe prisoner winked at my friend jocosely. “I can tell my own secrets,”\u000a he said, “but I don’t get other people into trouble. I saw your\u000aadvertisement, and I thought it might be a plant, or it might be the\u000aring which I wanted. My friend volunteered to go and see. I think you’ll\u000aown he did it smartly.”\u000a\u000a“Not a doubt of that,” said Holmes heartily.\u000a\u000a“Now, gentlemen,” the Inspector remarked gravely, “the forms of the law\u000amust be complied with. On Thursday the prisoner will be brought before\u000athe magistrates, and your attendance will be required. Until then I will\u000abe responsible for him.” He rang the bell as he spoke, and Jefferson\u000aHope was led off by a couple of warders, while my friend and I made our\u000away out of the Station and took a cab back to Baker Street.\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aCHAPTER VII. THE CONCLUSION.\u000a\u000a\u000aWE had all been warned to appear before the magistrates upon the\u000aThursday; but when the Thursday came there was no occasion for our\u000atestimony. A higher Judge had taken the matter in hand, and Jefferson\u000aHope had been summoned before a tribunal where strict justice would\u000abe meted out to him. On the very night after his capture the aneurism\u000aburst, and he was found in the morning stretched upon the floor of the\u000acell, with a placid smile upon his face, as though he had been able\u000ain his dying moments to look back upon a useful life, and on work well\u000adone.\u000a\u000a“Gregson and Lestrade will be wild about his death,” Holmes remarked, as\u000awe chatted it over next evening. “Where will their grand advertisement\u000abe now?”\u000a\u000a“I don’t see that they had very much to do with his capture,” I\u000aanswered.\u000a\u000a“What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence,” returned my\u000acompanion, bitterly. “The question is, what can you make people believe\u000athat you have done. Never mind,” he continued, more brightly, after a\u000apause. “I would not have missed the investigation for anything. There\u000ahas been no better case within my recollection. Simple as it was, there\u000awere several most instructive points about it.”\u000a\u000a“Simple!” I ejaculated.\u000a\u000a“Well, really, it can hardly be described as otherwise,” said Sherlock\u000aHolmes, smiling at my surprise. “The proof of its intrinsic simplicity\u000ais, that without any help save a few very ordinary deductions I was able\u000ato lay my hand upon the criminal within three days.”\u000a\u000a“That is true,” said I.\u000a\u000a“I have already explained to you that what is out of the common is\u000ausually a guide rather than a hindrance. In solving a problem of this\u000asort, the grand thing is to be able to reason backwards. That is a very\u000auseful accomplishment, and a very easy one, but people do not practise\u000ait much. In the every-day affairs of life it is more useful to reason\u000aforwards, and so the other comes to be neglected. There are fifty who\u000acan reason synthetically for one who can reason analytically.”\u000a\u000a“I confess,” said I, “that I do not quite follow you.”\u000a\u000a“I hardly expected that you would. Let me see if I can make it clearer.\u000aMost people, if you describe a train of events to them, will tell you\u000awhat the result would be. They can put those events together in their\u000aminds, and argue from them that something will come to pass. There are\u000afew people, however, who, if you told them a result, would be able to\u000aevolve from their own inner consciousness what the steps were which led\u000aup to that result. This power is what I mean when I talk of reasoning\u000abackwards, or analytically.”\u000a\u000a“I understand,” said I.\u000a\u000a“Now this was a case in which you were given the result and had to\u000afind everything else for yourself. Now let me endeavour to show you the\u000adifferent steps in my reasoning. To begin at the beginning. I approached\u000athe house, as you know, on foot, and with my mind entirely free from all\u000aimpressions. I naturally began by examining the roadway, and there, as I\u000ahave already explained to you, I saw clearly the marks of a cab, which,\u000aI ascertained by inquiry, must have been there during the night. I\u000asatisfied myself that it was a cab and not a private carriage by the\u000anarrow gauge of the wheels. The ordinary London growler is considerably\u000aless wide than a gentleman’s brougham.\u000a\u000a“This was the first point gained. I then walked slowly down the garden\u000apath, which happened to be composed of a clay soil, peculiarly suitable\u000afor taking impressions. No doubt it appeared to you to be a mere\u000atrampled line of slush, but to my trained eyes every mark upon its\u000asurface had a meaning. There is no branch of detective science which\u000ais so important and so much neglected as the art of tracing footsteps.\u000aHappily, I have always laid great stress upon it, and much practice\u000ahas made it second nature to me. I saw the heavy footmarks of the\u000aconstables, but I saw also the track of the two men who had first passed\u000athrough the garden. It was easy to tell that they had been before the\u000aothers, because in places their marks had been entirely obliterated by\u000athe others coming upon the top of them. In this way my second link was\u000aformed, which told me that the nocturnal visitors were two in number,\u000aone remarkable for his height (as I calculated from the length of his\u000astride), and the other fashionably dressed, to judge from the small and\u000aelegant impression left by his boots.\u000a\u000a“On entering the house this last inference was confirmed. My well-booted\u000aman lay before me. The tall one, then, had done the murder, if murder\u000athere was. There was no wound upon the dead man’s person, but the\u000aagitated expression upon his face assured me that he had foreseen his\u000afate before it came upon him. Men who die from heart disease, or any\u000asudden natural cause, never by any chance exhibit agitation upon their\u000afeatures. Having sniffed the dead man’s lips I detected a slightly sour\u000asmell, and I came to the conclusion that he had had poison forced upon\u000ahim. Again, I argued that it had been forced upon him from the hatred\u000aand fear expressed upon his face. By the method of exclusion, I had\u000aarrived at this result, for no other hypothesis would meet the facts.\u000aDo not imagine that it was a very unheard of idea. The forcible\u000aadministration of poison is by no means a new thing in criminal annals.\u000aThe cases of Dolsky in Odessa, and of Leturier in Montpellier, will\u000aoccur at once to any toxicologist.\u000a\u000a“And now came the great question as to the reason why. Robbery had not\u000abeen the object of the murder, for nothing was taken. Was it politics,\u000athen, or was it a woman? That was the question which confronted me.\u000aI was inclined from the first to the latter supposition. Political\u000aassassins are only too glad to do their work and to fly. This murder\u000ahad, on the contrary, been done most deliberately, and the perpetrator\u000ahad left his tracks all over the room, showing that he had been there\u000aall the time. It must have been a private wrong, and not a political\u000aone, which called for such a methodical revenge. When the inscription\u000awas discovered upon the wall I was more inclined than ever to my\u000aopinion. The thing was too evidently a blind. When the ring was found,\u000ahowever, it settled the question. Clearly the murderer had used it to\u000aremind his victim of some dead or absent woman. It was at this point\u000athat I asked Gregson whether he had enquired in his telegram to\u000aCleveland as to any particular point in Mr. Drebber’s former career. He\u000aanswered, you remember, in the negative.\u000a\u000a“I then proceeded to make a careful examination of the room, which\u000aconfirmed me in my opinion as to the murderer’s height, and furnished me\u000awith the additional details as to the Trichinopoly cigar and the length\u000aof his nails. I had already come to the conclusion, since there were no\u000asigns of a struggle, that the blood which covered the floor had burst\u000afrom the murderer’s nose in his excitement. I could perceive that the\u000atrack of blood coincided with the track of his feet. It is seldom that\u000aany man, unless he is very full-blooded, breaks out in this way through\u000aemotion, so I hazarded the opinion that the criminal was probably a\u000arobust and ruddy-faced man. Events proved that I had judged correctly.\u000a\u000a“Having left the house, I proceeded to do what Gregson had neglected. I\u000atelegraphed to the head of the police at Cleveland, limiting my enquiry\u000ato the circumstances connected with the marriage of Enoch Drebber. The\u000aanswer was conclusive. It told me that Drebber had already applied for\u000athe protection of the law against an old rival in love, named Jefferson\u000aHope, and that this same Hope was at present in Europe. I knew now that\u000aI held the clue to the mystery in my hand, and all that remained was to\u000asecure the murderer.\u000a\u000a“I had already determined in my own mind that the man who had walked\u000ainto the house with Drebber, was none other than the man who had driven\u000athe cab. The marks in the road showed me that the horse had wandered\u000aon in a way which would have been impossible had there been anyone in\u000acharge of it. Where, then, could the driver be, unless he were inside\u000athe house? Again, it is absurd to suppose that any sane man would carry\u000aout a deliberate crime under the very eyes, as it were, of a third\u000aperson, who was sure to betray him. Lastly, supposing one man wished\u000ato dog another through London, what better means could he adopt than\u000ato turn cabdriver. All these considerations led me to the irresistible\u000aconclusion that Jefferson Hope was to be found among the jarveys of the\u000aMetropolis.\u000a\u000a“If he had been one there was no reason to believe that he had ceased to\u000abe. On the contrary, from his point of view, any sudden change would be\u000alikely to draw attention to himself. He would, probably, for a time at\u000aleast, continue to perform his duties. There was no reason to suppose\u000athat he was going under an assumed name. Why should he change his name\u000ain a country where no one knew his original one? I therefore organized\u000amy Street Arab detective corps, and sent them systematically to every\u000acab proprietor in London until they ferreted out the man that I wanted.\u000aHow well they succeeded, and how quickly I took advantage of it, are\u000astill fresh in your recollection. The murder of Stangerson was an\u000aincident which was entirely unexpected, but which could hardly in\u000aany case have been prevented. Through it, as you know, I came into\u000apossession of the pills, the existence of which I had already surmised.\u000aYou see the whole thing is a chain of logical sequences without a break\u000aor flaw.”\u000a\u000a“It is wonderful!” I cried. “Your merits should be publicly recognized.\u000aYou should publish an account of the case. If you won’t, I will for\u000ayou.”\u000a\u000a“You may do what you like, Doctor,” he answered. “See here!” he\u000acontinued, handing a paper over to me, “look at this!”\u000a\u000aIt was the _Echo_ for the day, and the paragraph to which he pointed was\u000adevoted to the case in question.\u000a\u000a“The public,” it said, “have lost a sensational treat through the sudden\u000adeath of the man Hope, who was suspected of the murder of Mr. Enoch\u000aDrebber and of Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The details of the case will\u000aprobably be never known now, though we are informed upon good authority\u000athat the crime was the result of an old standing and romantic feud, in\u000awhich love and Mormonism bore a part. It seems that both the victims\u000abelonged, in their younger days, to the Latter Day Saints, and Hope, the\u000adeceased prisoner, hails also from Salt Lake City. If the case has had\u000ano other effect, it, at least, brings out in the most striking manner\u000athe efficiency of our detective police force, and will serve as a lesson\u000ato all foreigners that they will do wisely to settle their feuds at\u000ahome, and not to carry them on to British soil. It is an open secret\u000athat the credit of this smart capture belongs entirely to the well-known\u000aScotland Yard officials, Messrs. Lestrade and Gregson. The man was\u000aapprehended, it appears, in the rooms of a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes,\u000awho has himself, as an amateur, shown some talent in the detective\u000aline, and who, with such instructors, may hope in time to attain to some\u000adegree of their skill. It is expected that a testimonial of some sort\u000awill be presented to the two officers as a fitting recognition of their\u000aservices.”\u000a\u000a“Didn’t I tell you so when we started?” cried Sherlock Holmes with a\u000alaugh. “That’s the result of all our Study in Scarlet: to get them a\u000atestimonial!”\u000a\u000a“Never mind,” I answered, “I have all the facts in my journal, and the\u000apublic shall know them. In the meantime you must make yourself contented\u000aby the consciousness of success, like the Roman miser--\u000a\u000a            “‘Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo\u000a       Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplor in arca.’”\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000a\u000aORIGINAL TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:\u000a\u000a\u000a[Footnote 1: Frontispiece, with the caption: “He examined with his glass\u000athe word upon the wall, going over every letter of it with the most\u000aminute exactness.” (_Page_ 23.)]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 2: “JOHN H. WATSON, M.D.”: the initial letters in the name are\u000acapitalized, the other letters in small caps. All chapter titles are in\u000asmall caps. The initial words of chapters are in small caps with first\u000aletter capitalized.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 3: “lodgings.”: the period should be a comma, as in later\u000aeditions.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 4: “hoemoglobin”: should be haemoglobin. The o&e are\u000aconcatenated.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 5: “221B”: the B is in small caps]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 6: “THE LAURISTON GARDEN MYSTERY”: the table-of-contents\u000alists this chapter as “...GARDENS MYSTERY”--plural, and probably more\u000acorrect.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 7: “brought.\"”: the text has an extra double-quote mark]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 8: “individual--“: illustration this page, with the\u000acaption: “As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying here, there, and\u000aeverywhere.”]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 9: “manoeuvres”: the o&e are concatenated.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 10: “Patent leathers”: the hyphen is missing.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 11: “condonment”: should be condonement.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 13: “wages.”: ending quote is missing.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 14: “the first.”: ending quote is missing.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 15: “make much of...”: Other editions complete this sentence\u000awith an “it.” But there is a gap in the text at this point, and, given\u000athe context, it may have actually been an interjection, a dash. The gap\u000ais just the right size for the characters “it.” and the start of a new\u000asentence, or for a “----“]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 16: “tho cushion”: “tho” should be “the”]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 19: “shoving”: later editions have “showing”. The original is\u000aclearly superior.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 20: “stared about...”: illustration, with the caption: “One of\u000athem seized the little girl, and hoisted her upon his shoulder.”]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 21: “upon the”: illustration, with the caption: “As he watched\u000ait he saw it writhe along the ground.”]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 22: “FORMERLY...”: F,S,L,C in caps, other letters in this line\u000ain small caps.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 23: “ancles”: ankles.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 24: “asked,”: should be “asked.”]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 25: “poisions”: should be “poisons”]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 26: “...fancy”: should be “I fancy”. There is a gap in the\u000atext.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 27: “snackled”: “shackled” in later texts.]\u000a\u000a[Footnote 29: Heber C. 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