Murders in the Rue Morgue by Edgar Allan Poe The Red-Headed League by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 15

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1 Table of Contents Murders in the Rue Morgue by Edgar Allan Poe... 2 The Red-Headed League by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 15 The Adventure of the Speckled Band by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 35 The Mystery of the Blue Jar by Agatha Christie 53 The Plymouth Express by Agatha Christie. 68 Mullholland Dive by Michael Connelly 83 1

2 The Murders in the Rue Morgue by Edgar Allan Poe Part One What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he bid himself among women, although puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture [guess]. -- Sir Thomas Browne [Summary: The narrator describes the circumstances in which he met a man named C. Auguste Dupin. Both men were searching for the same book at an obscure library in the Rue Montmartre, in Paris, and began to converse. Soon, they became friends and decided to share the expenses of a residence together. The narrator then relays an anecdote illustrating Dupin s brilliant powers of analysis. One night, while walking together, Dupin describes an actor whom the narrator is thinking about. Amazed, the narrator asks Dupin to explain his method, and we witness Dupin s capacity to work backward and observe the importance of seemingly insignificant details (in this case his friend s facial expressions and body language) in order to reach ingenious conclusions.] Not long after this, we were looking over an evening edition of the Gazette des Tribunaux, when the following paragraphs arrested our attention. "EXTRAORDINARY MURDERS. --This morning, about three o'clock, the inhabitants of the Quartier St. Roch were roused from sleep by a succession of terrific shrieks, issuing, apparently, from the fourth story of a house in the Rue Morgue, known to be in the sole occupancy of one Madame L'Espanaye, and her daughter, Mademoiselle Camille L'Espanaye. After some delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to procure admission [get in] in the usual manner, the gateway was broken in with a crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighbors entered, accompanied by two gendarmes [policemen]. By this time the cries had ceased; but, as the party rushed up the first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices, in angry contention [argument], were distinguished, and seemed to proceed from the upper part of the house. As the second landing was reached, these sounds, also, had ceased, and every thing remained perfectly quiet. The party spread themselves, and hurried from room to room. Upon arriving at a large back chamber in the fourth story (the door of which, being found locked, with the key inside, was forced open), a spectacle presented itself which struck every one present not less with horror than with astonishment. "The apartment was in the wildest disorder--the furniture broken and thrown about in all directions. There was only one bedstead; and from this the bed had been removed, and thrown into the middle of the floor. On the chair lay a razor, besmeared with blood. On the hearth were two or three long and thick tresses [strands] of gray human hair, also dabbled with blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the roots. Upon the floor were found four Napoleons [French gold colds], an ear-ring of topaz, three large silver spoons, three smaller of metal d'alger, and two bags, containing nearly four thousand francs in gold. The drawers of a bureau, which stood in one corner, were open, and had been, apparently, rifled, although many articles still remained in them. A small iron safe was discovered under the bed (not under the bedstead). It was open, with the key still in the door. It had no contents beyond a few old letters, and other papers of little consequence. 2

3 "Of Madame L'Espanaye no traces were here seen; but an unusual quantity of soot being observed in the fire-place, a search was made in the chimney, and (horrible to relate!) the corpse of the daughter, head downward, was dragged therefrom; it having been thus forced up the narrow aperture [opening] for a considerable distance. The body was quite warm. Upon examining it, many excoriations [scratches] were perceived, no doubt occasioned [caused] by the violence with which it had been thrust up and disengaged. Upon the face were many severe scratches, and, upon the throat, dark bruises, and deep indentations of finger nails, as if the deceased had been throttled [strangled] to death. "After a thorough investigation of every portion of the house without farther discovery, the party made its way into a small paved yard in the rear of the building, where lay the corpse of the old lady, with her throat so entirely cut that, upon an attempt to raise here, the head fell off. The body, as well as the head, was fearfully mutilated--the former [the body] so much so as scarcely to retain any [re]semblance of humanity. "To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we believe, the slightest clew." The next day's paper had these additional particulars: "The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue. --Many individuals have been examined in relation to this most extraordinary and frightful affair," [the word 'affaire' has not yet, in France, that levity [lack of seriousness] of import which it conveys with us] "but nothing whatever has transpired [happened] to throw light upon it. We give below all the material testimony elicited [gathered]. PAULINE DUBOURG (laundress): [I have] known both the deceased for three years, having washed for them during that period. The old lady and her daughter seemed on good terms--very affectionate toward each other. They were excellent pay. [I] Could not speak in regard to their mode or means of living. [I] Believe that Madame L. told fortunes for a living. [She] Was [said] to have money [saved up]. [I] Never met any person in the house when she called for the clothes or took them home. [I] Was sure that they had no servant in employ. There appeared to be no furniture in any part of the building except in the fourth story. PIERRE MOREAU (tobacconist): [I have] been in the habit of selling small quantities of tobacco and snuff to Madam L'Espanaye for nearly four years. [She] Was born in the neighborhood, and [has] always resided there. The deceased and her daughter had occupied the house in which the corpses were found, for more than six years. It was formerly occupied by a jeweler, who [sublet] the upper rooms to various persons. The house was the property of Madame L. She became dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises by her tenant, and moved into them herself, refusing to [rent] any portion. The old lady was childish. [I] had seen the daughter some five or six time during the six years. The two lived an exceedingly retired [quiet] life--were reputed [said] to have money. [I] Had heard it said among the neighbors that Madame L. told fortunes [but I] did not believe it. [I] Had never seen any person enter the door except the old lady and her daughter, a porter once or twice, and a physician some eight or ten times. "Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to the same effect. No one was spoken of as frequenting [visiting] the house. It was not known whether there were any living connections of Madame L. and her daughter. The shutters of the front windows were seldom opened. Those in the rear were always closed, with the exception of the large back room, fourth story. The house was a good house--not very old. ISIDORE MUSET (gendarme): [I] was called to the house about three o'clock in the morning, and found some twenty or thirty persons at the gateway, [trying to get in]. [I] Forced it open, at length, with a bayonet-- not with a crowbar. [I] Had but little difficulty in getting it open, on account of its being a double or folding gate, and bolted neither at bottom nor top. The shrieks were continued until the gate was forced--and then suddenly ceased. They seemed to be screams of some person (or persons) in great agony--were loud and drawn out, not short and quick. [I] led the way up stairs. Upon reaching the first landing, [I] heard two voices 3

4 in loud and angry contention--the one a gruff voice, the other much shriller--a very strange voice. [I] Could distinguish some words of the [gruff voice], which was that of a Frenchman. [I] Was positive that it was not a woman's voice. [I] Could distinguish the words 'sacre' and 'diable.' The shrill voice was that of a foreigner. [I can] not be sure whether it was the voice of a man or of a woman. [I] Could not make out what was said but believed the language to be Spanish. The state of the room and of the bodies was described by this witness as we described them yesterday. HENRI DUVAL (a neighbor, and silver-smith): [I] was one of the party who first entered the house. [I support] the testimony of Muset in general. As soon as [we] forced an entrance, [we] reclosed the door, to keep out the crowd, which collected very fast, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. The shrill voice, [I think], was that of an Italian. [I m] certain it was not French. [I can] not be sure that it was a man's voice. It might have been a woman's. [I am] not acquainted with the Italian language. [I] Could not distinguish the words, but [am] convinced by the intonation [accent] that the speaker was an Italian. [I] Knew Madame L. and her daughter. [I] Had conversed with both frequently. [I am] sure that the shrill voice was not that of either of the deceased. ODENHEIMER (restauranteur; native of Amsterdam; interviewed through an interpreter): [I] Was passing the house at the time of the shrieks. They lasted for several minutes--probably ten. They were long and loud-- very awful and distressing. [I] Was one of those who entered the building. [I support] the previous evidence in every respect but one. [I am] sure that the shrill voice was that of a man--of a Frenchman. [I] Could not distinguish the words uttered. They were loud and quick--unequal--spoken apparently in fear as well as in anger. The voice was harsh--not so much shrill as harsh. [I] Could not call it a shrill voice. The gruff voice said repeatedly, 'sacre,' 'diable,' and once 'mon Dieu.' JULES MIGNAUD (banker of the firm of Mignaud et Sons, Rue Deloraine): Madame L'Espanaye had some property. [She] Had opened an account with [my] banking house in the spring of the year ---- (eight years previously). [She] made frequent deposits in small sums. [She] had checked for nothing until the third day before her death, when she took out in person the sum of 4000 francs. This sum was paid in gold, and a clerk sent [to her house] with the money. ADOLPHE LE BON (clerk to Mignaud et Sons): On the day in question, about noon, [I] accompanied Madame L'Espanaye to her residence with the 4000 francs, put up in two bags. Upon the door being opened, Mademoiselle L. appeared and took from [my] hands one of the bags, while the old lady relieved [me] of the other. [I] then bowed and departed. [I] Did not see any person in the street at the time. It is a by-street--very lonely. WILLIAM BIRD (tailor): [I] was one of the party who entered the house. [I m] an Englishman. [I have] lived in Paris two years. [I] Was one of the first to ascend [climb] the stairs. [I] Heard the voices in contention [arguing]. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. [I] Could make out several words, but cannot now remember all. [I] Heard distinctly 'sacre' and 'mon Dieu.' There was a sound at the moment as if of several persons struggling--a scraping and scuffling sound. The shrill voice was very loud--louder than the gruff one. [I am] sure that it was not the voice of an Englishman. [It] Appeared to be that of a German. [It] Might have been a woman's voice. [I do] not understand German. "Four of the above-named witnesses, being recalled, [testified] that the door of the chamber in which was found the body of Mademoiselle L. was locked on the inside when the party reached it. Every thing was perfectly silent--no groans or noises of any kind. Upon forcing the door no person was seen. The windows, both of the back and front room, were down and firmly fastened from within. A door between the two rooms was closed but not locked. The door leading from the front room into the passage was locked, with the key on the inside. A small room in the front of the 4

5 house, on the fourth story, at the head of the passage, was open, the door being ajar. This room was crowded with old beds, boxes, and so forth. These were carefully removed and searched. There was not an inch of any portion of the house which was not carefully searched. Sweeps were sent up and down the chimneys. The house was a four-story one, with garrets (mansardes). A trap-door on the roof was nailed down very securely--did not appear to have been opened for years. The time elapsing between the hearing of the voices in contention and the breaking open of the room door was variously stated by the witnesses. Some made it as short as three minutes--some as long as five. The door was opened with difficulty. ALFONZO GARCIO (undertaker): [I live] in the Rue Morgue. [I m] a native of Spain. [I] Was one of the party who entered the house. [I] Did not proceed up stairs. [I] Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. [I] Could not distinguish what was said. The shrill voice was that of an Englishman [I m] sure of this. [I do] not understand the English language, but judge by the intonation [accent]. ALBERTO MONTANI (confectioner): [I] was among the first to ascend [climb] the stairs. [I] Heard the voices in question. The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman.[I] Distinguished several words. The speaker appeared to be [protesting]. [I] Could not make out the words of the shrill voice. [It] Spoke quick and unevenly. [I think] it [was] the voice of a Russian. [I m] an Italian. [I ve] Never conversed with a native of Russia. "Several witnesses, recalled, here testified that the chimneys of all the rooms of the fourth story were too narrow to admit the passage of a human being. By 'sweeps' were meant cylindrical sweeping-brushes, such as are employed by those who clean chimneys. These brushes were passed up and down every flue in the house. There is no back passage by which any one could have descended while the party proceeded up stairs. The body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was so firmly wedged in the chimney that it could not be got down until four or five of the party united their strength. PAUL DUMAS (physician): [I] was called to view the bodies about daybreak. They were both then lying on the sacking of the bedstead in the chamber where Mademoiselle L. was found. The corpse of the young lady was much bruised and excoriated [scratched]. The fact that it had been thrust up the chimney would sufficiently account for these appearances. The throat was greatly chafed. There were several deep scratches just below the chin, together with a series of livid [bruised] spots which were evidently the impressions of fingers. The face was fearfully discolored, and the eyeballs protruded [stuck out]. The tongue had been partially bitten through. A large bruise was discovered upon the pit of the stomach, produced, apparently, by the pressure of a knee. In [my] opinion, Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been throttled to death by some person or persons unknown. The corpse of the mother was horribly mutilated. All the bones of the right leg and arm were more or less shattered. The left tibia much splintered, as well as all the ribs of the left side. Whole body dreadfully bruised and discolored. It was not possible to say how the injuries had been inflicted. A heavy club of wood, or a broad bar of iron--a chair--any large, heavy, and obtuse [thick] weapon would have produced such results, if wielded [handled] by the hands of a very powerful man. No woman could have inflicted the blows with any weapon. The head of the deceased, when seen by witness, was entirely separated from the body, and was also greatly shattered. The throat had evidently been cut with some very sharp instrument-- probably with a razor. "Alexandre Etienne, surgeon, was called with M. Dumas to view the bodies. [He] Corroborated the testimony, and the opinions of M. Dumas. "Nothing further of importance was elicited, although several other persons were examined. A murder so mysterious, and so perplexing in all its particulars, was never before committed in Paris--if indeed a murder had been committed at all. The police are entirely at fault--an unusual occurrence in affairs of this nature. There is not, however, the shadow of a clew apparent." 5

6 The evening edition of the paper stated that the greatest excitement still continued in the quartier St. Roch--that the premises in question had been carefully re-searched, and fresh examinations of witnesses instituted, but all to no purpose. A postscript, however, mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arrested and imprisoned--although nothing appeared to criminate him beyond the facts already detailed. Dupin seemed singularly interested in the progress of this affair--at least so I judged from his manner, for he made no comments. It was only after the announcement that Le Bon had been imprisoned, that he asked me my opinion respecting the murders. I could merely agree with all Paris in considering them an insoluble [unsolvable] mystery. I saw no means by which it would be possible to trace the murderer. DUPIN: "We must not judge of the means by this shell of an examination. The Parisian police, so much extolled [praised] for acumen [intelligence], are cunning [clever], but no more. There is no method in their proceedings, beyond the method of the moment. "As for these murders, let us enter into some examinations for ourselves, before we make up an opinion respecting them. An inquiry will afford us amusement," I thought this an odd term, so applied, but said nothing, "and besides, Le Bon once rendered me a service for which I am not ungrateful. We will go and see the premises with our own eyes. I know G----, the Prefect of Police, and shall have no difficulty in obtaining the necessary permission." [With the arrest of Le Bon, Dupin becomes interested in pursuing the investigation and obtains permission to search the crime scene. Dupin is eager to survey the setting because the newspaper reports portray the apartment as impossible to escape from the inside, which makes the case so mysterious. Dupin suggests that the police have been so distracted by the atrocity of the murder and the apparent lack of motive that, while they have been attentive to what has occurred, they have failed to consider that the present crime could be something that has never occurred before. Producing two pistols, Dupin reveals that he awaits the arrival of a person who will prove his solution to the crime.] I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, or believing what I heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if in a soliloquy [speech]. I have already spoken of his abstract manner at such times. His discourse [speech] was addressed to myself; but his voice, although by no means loud, had that intonation which is commonly employed in speaking to some one at a great distance. His eyes, vacant in expression, regarded only the wall. DUPIN: That the voices heard in contention [argument] by the party upon the stairs, were not the voices of the women themselves, was fully proved by the evidence. This relieves us of all doubt upon the question whether the old lady could have first destroyed the daughter, and afterward have committed suicide. I speak of this point chiefly for the sake of method; for the strength of Madame L'Espanaye would have been utterly unequal to the task of thrusting her daughter's corpse up the chimney as it was found; and the nature of the wounds upon her own person entirely precludes [rules 6

7 out] the idea of self-destruction. Murder, then, has been committed by some third party; and the voices of this third party were those heard in contention. Let me now advert [call attention]--not to the whole testimony respecting these voices--but to what was peculiar in that testimony. Did you observe any thing peculiar about it?" NARRATOR: While all the witnesses agreed in supposing [assuming] the gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there was much disagreement in regard to the shrill, or, as one individual termed it, the harsh voice. DUPIN: That was the evidence itself, but it was not the peculiarity of the evidence. You have observed nothing distinctive. Yet there was something to be observed. The witnesses, as you remarked, agreed about the gruff voice; they were here unanimous. But in regard to the shrill voice, the peculiarity is--not that they disagreed--but that, while an Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Hollander, and a Frenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke of it as that of a foreigner. Each is sure that it was not the voice of one of his own countrymen..you will say that it might have been the voice of an Asiatic--of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans abound in Paris; but, without denying the inference, I will now merely call your attention to three points. The voice is termed by one witness 'harsh rather than shrill.' It is represented by two others to have been 'quick and unequal.' No words-- no sounds resembling words--were by any witness mentioned as distinguishable. "Let us now [imagine] ourselves in this [bedroom where the murders happened]. What shall we first seek here? The [method of escape] by the murderers. It is not too much to say that neither of us believe in preternatural [supernatural] events. Madame and Mademoiselle L'Espanaye were not destroyed by [ghosts]. The doers of the deed were material and escaped materially. Then how?..both doors leading from the rooms into the passage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn to the chimneys. These, although of ordinary width for some eight or ten feet above the hearths, will not admit, throughout their extent, the body of a large cat. The impossibility of egress [exit], by means already stated, being thus absolute, we are reduced to the windows. Through those of the front room no one could have escaped without notice from the crowd in the street. The murderers must have passed, then, through those [windows] of the back room.. "There are two windows in the chamber. One of them is unobstructed by furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower portion of the other is hidden from view by the head of the unwieldy [bulky] [head board] which is thrust close up against it. The former was found securely fastened from within. It resisted the utmost force of those who endeavor to raise it. " The murderers did escape from one of these windows. This being so, they could not have refastened the sashes [part of the window that moves] from the inside, as they were found fastened;-- the consideration which put a stop, through its obviousness, to the scrutiny [examination] of the police in this quarter. Yet the sashes were fastened. They must, then, have the power of fastening themselves. 7

8 [He explains that the police have overlooked the windows in the apartment, which operate by springs and can be opened from the inside. He figured this out, himself, by testing them upon their visit to the crime scene. Though the police believe the windows to be nailed shut, Dupin discovered a broken nail in one window, which only seemed to be intact. Dupin deduces that someone could have opened the window, exited the apartment, and closed the window from the outside without raising suspicion. Dupin also addresses the mode of entry through the windows. The police imagine that no suspect could climb up the walls to the point of entry. Dupin hypothesizes that a person or thing of great agility [quickness] could leap from the lightning rod outside the window to the shutters of the window.] DUPIN: " Let us now revert [return] to the interior of the room. Let us survey the appearances here.. The gold was abandoned. Nearly the whole sum mentioned by Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was discovered, in bags, upon the floor.. But, under the real circumstances of the case, if we are to suppose gold the motive of this outrage, we must also imagine the perpetrator [criminal] [such] an idiot as to have abandoned his gold and his motive altogether. " [Now] let us glance at the butchery itself. Here is a woman strangled to death by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney head downward. Ordinary assassins employ no such mode of murder as this. Least of all, do they thus dispose of the murdered. In this manner of thrusting the corpse up the chimney, you will admit that there was something. altogether [inhuman], even when we suppose the actors the most depraved of men. Think, too, how great must have been that strength which could have thrust the body up such an aperture [opening] so forcibly that the united vigor [combined strength] of several persons was found barely sufficient to drag it down! "Turn, now, to other indications of the [use of great strength]. On the hearth were thick tresses--very thick tresses--of gray human hair. These had been torn out by the roots. You are aware of the great force necessary in tearing thus from the head even twenty or thirty hairs together. You saw the locks in question as well as myself. Their roots (a hideous sight!) were clotted with fragments of the flesh of the scalp--sure tokens of the prodigious [phenomenal] power which had been exerted in uprooting perhaps half a million of hairs at a time. The throat of the old lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutely severed from the body: the instrument was a mere razor. I wish you also to look at the brutal ferocity of these deeds. "If now, in addition to all these things, you have properly reflected upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we have gone so far as to combine the ideas of an [impressive quickness], a strength superhuman, a ferocity brutal, a butchery without motive, a grotesquerie in horror absolutely alien from humanity, and a voice foreign in tone to the ears of men of many nations, and [lacking] all distinct or intelligible [sounds]. What result, then, has ensued? What impression have I made upon your fancy [imagination]?" I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me the question. 8

9 NARRATOR: "A madman has done this deed--some raving maniac, escaped from a neighboring Maison de Sante [mental institute]." DUPIN: " But the voices of madmen, even in their wildest paroxysms [outbursts], are never found to tally with [match] that peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of some nation, and their language, however incoherent [hard to decipher] in its words, has always the [hint of syllables]. Besides, the hair of a madman is not such as I now hold in my hand. I disentangled this little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L'Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it." NARRATOR: "Dupin!" I said, completely unnerved, "this hair is most unusual--this is no human hair." DUPIN: "I have not asserted [claimed] that it is, but, before we decide this point, I wish you to glance at the little sketch I have here traced upon this paper. It is [an exact copy] of a drawing of what has been described in one portion of the testimony as 'dark bruises and deep indentations of finger nails' upon the throat of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and in another (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne) as a 'series of livid spots, evidently the impression of fingers.' "You will perceive," continued my friend, spreading out the paper upon the table before us, "that this drawing gives the idea of a firm and fixed hold. There is no slipping apparent. Attempt, now, to place all your fingers, at the same time, in the respective impressions as you see them." I made the attempt in vain [without success]. NARRATOR: " This is the mark of no human hand." 9

10 DUPIN: "Read now, this passage from Cuvier." The Murders in the Rue Morgue by Edgar Allan Poe Part Two It was a minute [detailed] anatomical and generally descriptive account of the large [reddish-yellow] Ourang-Outang of the East Indian Islands. The gigantic stature, the prodigious [remarkable] strength and activity, the wild ferocity, and the imitative propensities [tendency to imitate] of these mammalia are sufficiently well known to all. I understood the full horrors of the murder at once. NARRATOR: "The description of the digits," said I, as I made an end of the reading, "is in exact accordance with this drawing. I see no animal but an Ourang-Outang, of the species here mentioned, could have impressed the indentations as you have traced them. This tuft of tawny hair, too, is identical in character with that of the beast. But I cannot possibly comprehend the particulars of this frightful mystery. Besides, there were two voices heard in contention, and one of them was unquestionably the voice of a Frenchman." DUPIN: "True; and you will remember an expression attributed almost unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice,--the expression, 'mon Dieu!' This, under the circumstances, has been justly characterized by one of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner) as an expression of remonstrance [horror]. Upon these two words, therefore, I have mainly built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A Frenchman [was aware of] the murder. It is possible--indeed it is far more than probable--that he was innocent of all participation in the bloody transactions which took place. The Ourang-Outang may have escaped from him. He may have traced it to the chamber; but, under the [violent] circumstances which ensued, he could never have recaptured it. It is still at large. If the Frenchman in question is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this advertisement, which I left last night, upon our return home, at the office of Le Monde (a paper devoted to the shipping interest, and much sought by sailors), will bring him to our residence [house]." He handed me a paper, and I read thus: "CAUGHT--In the Bois de Boulogne [a park in Paris, far from the murder scene], early in the morning. (the morning of the murder), a very large, tawny Ourang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owner (who is ascertained [believed] to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel) may have the animal again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a few charges arising from its capture and keeping. Call at No Rue ----, Faubourg St. Germain--au troisieme." NARRATOR: "How was it possible that you should know the man to be a sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?" 10

11 [Dupin explains that the owner must be a sailor, since, at the base of the lightning rod outside the window of Madame L Espanaye s, he found a ribbon knotted in a way unique to sailors trained in the Maltese Islands.] At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs. DUPIN: "Be ready with your pistols, but neither use them nor show them until at a signal from myself." The front door of the house had been left open, and the visitor had entered, without ringing, and advanced several steps upon the staircase. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard him descending [going down]. Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when we again heard him [the stranger] coming up. He did not turn back a second time, but stepped up with decision, and rapped at the door of our chamber. DUPIN: "Come in," said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone. A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently,--a tall, stout, and muscular-looking person, with a certain dare-devil expression. His face, greatly sunburnt, was more than half hidden by whisker and mustachio. He had with him a huge oaken cudgel [a club], but appeared to be otherwise unarmed. He bowed awkwardly, and bade us "good evening," in French accents... DUPIN: "Sit down, my friend. I suppose you have called about the Ourang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost envy you the possession of him; a remarkably fine, and no doubt very valuable animal. How old do you suppose him to be?" The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a man relieved of some intolerable burden, and then replied in an assured [confident] tone: SAILOR: "I have no way of telling--but he can't be more than four or five years old. Have you got him here?" DUPIN: "Oh, no; we had no conveniences for keeping him here. He is at a livery [horse] stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You can get him in the morning. Of course you are prepared to identify the property?" SAILOR: "To be sure I am, sir." DUPIN: "I shall be sorry to part with him." SAILOR: "I don't mean that you should be at all this trouble for nothing, sir. Couldn't expect it. Am very willing to pay a reward for the finding of the animal--that is to say, any thing in reason." 11

12 DUPIN: "Well, that is all very fair, to be sure. Let me think!--what should I have? Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be this. You shall give me all the information in your power about these murders in the Rue Morgue." Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very quietly. Just as quietly, too, he walked toward the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. He then drew a pistol from his [jacket] and placed it, without the least flurry, upon the table. The sailor's face flushed up as if he were struggling with suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel [club]; but the next moment he fell back into his seat, trembling violently, and with the countenance [look] of death itself. He spoke not a word. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart. DUPIN: "My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you are alarming yourself unnecessarily--you are indeed. We mean you no harm whatever. I pledge you the honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we intend you no injury. I perfectly well know that you are innocent of the atrocities in the Rue Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny that you are in some measure implicated [involved] in them. From what I have already said, you must know that I have had means of information about this matter- -means of which you could never have dreamed. Now the thing stands thus. You have done nothing which you could have avoided--nothing, certainly, which renders you culpable [guilty]. You were not even guilty of robbery, when you might have robbed with impunity [without getting caught]. You have nothing to conceal. You have no reason for concealment. On the other hand, you are bound by every principle of honor to confess all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned, charged with a crime of which you can point out the perpetrator." The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great measure, while Dupin uttered these words; but his original boldness of bearing [confidence] was all gone. SAILOR: So help me God! I will tell you all I know about this affair;--but I do not expect you to believe one half I say--i would be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent, and I will make a clean breast if I die for it." What he stated was, in substance, this. He had lately made a voyage to [Indonesia]. A party, of which he formed one, landed at Borneo, and passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure. Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang-Outang. This companion dying, the animal fell into his own exclusive possession. After great trouble he at length succeeded in lodging it safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract toward himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors, he kept it carefully secluded, until such time as it should recover from a wound in the foot, received from a splinter on board ship. His ultimate design was to sell it. Returning home from some sailors' [party] on the night, or rather in the morning, of the murder, he found the beast occupying his own bedroom, into which it had broken from a closet adjoining, where it had been, as was thought, securely confined. Razor in hand, and fully lathered, it was sitting before a looking-glass [mirror], attempting the operation of shaving, in which it had no doubt previously 12

13 watched its master through the keyhole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious, and so well able to use it, the man, for some moments, was at a loss what to do. He had been accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even in its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip, and to this he now resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ourang-Outang sprang at once through the door of the chamber, down the stairs, and thence, through a window, unfortunately open, into the street. The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor still in hand, occasionally stopping to look back and [gesture] at his pursuer, until the [sailor] had nearly [captured] it. It then again made off. In this manner the chase continued for a long time. The streets were profoundly quiet, as it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. In passing down an alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive's [animal s] attention was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window of Madame L'Espanaye's chamber, in the fourth story of her house. Rushing to the building, it perceived the lightning-rod, clambered up with inconceivable [outstanding] agility, grasped the shutter, which was thrown fully back against the wall, and, by its means, swung itself directly upon the headboard of the bed. The whole feat [act] did not occupy a minute. The shutter was kicked open again by the Ourang-Outang as it entered the room. The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced [hopeful] and perplexed [confused]. He had strong hopes of now recapturing the brute, as it could scarcely escape from the trap into which it had ventured, except by the rod, where it might be intercepted as it came down. On the other hand, there was much cause for anxiety as to what it might do in the house. This latter reflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A lightning-rod is ascended [climbed] without difficulty, especially by a sailor; but when he had arrived as high as the window, which lay far to his left, his career [attempt] was stopped; the most that he could accomplish was to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of the interior of the room. At this glimpse he nearly fell from his hold through excess of horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks arose upon the night, which had startled from slumber [sleep] the [residents] of the Rue Morgue. Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter, habited [dressed] in their night clothes, had apparently been occupied in arranging some papers in the iron chest already mentioned, which had been wheeled into the middle of the room. It was open, and its contents lay beside it on the floor. The victims must have been sitting with their backs toward the window, and, from the time elapsing [passing] between the ingress [entrance] of the beast and the screams, it seemed probable that it was not immediately perceived [noticed by others]. The flapping-to of the shutter would naturally have been attributed to the wind. As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seized Madame L'Espanaye by the hair (which was loose, as she had been combing it), and was flourishing [waving] the razor about her face, in imitation of the motions of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate [flat] and motionless; she had swooned [fainted]. The screams and struggles of the old lady (during which the hair was torn from her head) had the effect of changing the probably [peaceful intentions] of the Ourang-Outang into those of [violence]. With one determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearly severed here head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed its anger into frenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire from its eyes, it flew upon the body of the girl, and imbedded its fearful talons in her throat, retaining its grasp until she expired 13

14 [died]. Its wandering and wild glances fell at this moment upon the head of the bed, over which the face of its master, rigid with horror, was just discernible [noticeable]. The fury of the beast, who no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, was instantly converted into fear. Conscious of having deserved punishment, it seemed desirous of concealing [hiding] its bloody deeds, and skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervous agitation; throwing down and breaking the furniture as it moved, and dragging the bed from the bedstead. In conclusion, it seized first the corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up the chimney, as it was found; then that of the old lady, which it immediately hurled through the window headlong. As the ape approached the casement [window] with its mutilated burden, the sailor shrank aghast [horrified] to the [lightening] rod, and, rather gliding than clambering down it, hurried at once home-- dreading the consequences of the butchery, and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude [concern] about the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard by the [neighbors and police] upon the staircase were the Frenchman's exclamations of horror and affright, [mixed with] with the fiendish jabberings of the brute [animal]. I have scarcely any thing to add. The Ourang-Outang must have escaped from the chamber, by the rod, just before the breaking of the door. It must have closed the window as it passed through it. It was subsequently [eventually] caught by the owner himself, who obtained [got] for it a very large sum at the Jardin des Plantes [the zoo]. Le Bon [the accused man] was instantly released, upon our narration of the circumstances (with some comments from Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This [police chief, even though he believed Dupin], could not altogether conceal his chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and [sarcastically commented on the idea] of every person minding his own business. DUPIN: "Let him talk," said Dupin, who had not thought it necessary to reply. "Let him [talk]; it will [make him feel better]. I am satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle. Nevertheless, he failed in the solution of this mystery ;for in truth our friend the Prefect is somewhat too cunning [clever] to be profound [really smart]. In his wisdom is no stamen [nothing productive]. It is all head and no body, like the pictures of the Goddess Laverna--or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a codfish. But he is a good creature after all. I like him especially for [his talent ], by which he has attained his reputation for ingenuity [cleverness]. I mean the way he has 'de nier ce qui est, et d'expliquer ce qui n'est pas [to deny that which is and explain that which isn t]*. *Rousseau--Nouvelle Heloise. 14

15 The Red-headed League by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very stout [bulky], florid-faced [red-faced], elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me. HOLMES: You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson," he said cordially [in a friendly manner]. WATSON: "I was afraid that you were engaged." HOLMES: "So I am. Very much so." WATSON: "Then I can wait in the next room." HOLMES: "Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also." The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small fat-encircled eyes. HOLMES: "Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and putting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. You have shown your relish [enjoyment] for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own little adventures." WATSON: "Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," I observed. HOLMES: "You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the imagination." WATSON: "A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting." HOLMES: "You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you until your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most singular [unusual] which I have listened to 15

16 for some time. You have heard me remark that the strangest and most unique things are very often connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As far as I have heard it is impossible for me to say whether the present case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is certainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask you not merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part but also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have every possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some slight indication of the course of events, I am able to guide myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my memory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief, unique." The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down the advertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the paper flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man and endeavored [tried], after the fashion of my companion, to read the indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance. I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore every mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy gray shepherd's check trousers, a not over-clean black frockcoat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save [except] his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features. Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. HOLMES: "Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason [member of a fraternal club], that he has been in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else." Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion. WILSON: "How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did manual labor? It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's carpenter." HOLMES: "Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more developed." 16

17 WILSON: "Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?" HOLMES: "I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that, especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use an arc-and-compass breastpin [sign of the Freemasons]." WILSON: "Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?" HOLMES: "What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you rest it upon the desk?" WILSON: "Well, but China?" HOLMES: The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature of the subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a delicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple." Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. WILSON: "Well, I never!" said he. "I thought at first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was nothing in it, after all." HOLMES: "I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, that I make a mistake in explaining. Omne ignotum pro magnifico [The unknown tends to seem more important], you know, and my poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid [honest]. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?" WILSON: "Yes, I have got it now," he answered with his thick red finger planted halfway down the column. "Here it is. This is what began it all. You just read it for yourself, sir." I took the paper from him and read as follows. TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of 4 pounds a week for purely nominal services. All redheaded men who are sound in body and mind and above the age of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope's Court, Fleet Street. WATSON: "What on earth does this mean?" I [cried] after I had twice read over the extraordinary announcement. Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in high spirits. 17

18 HOLMES: "It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?" said he. "And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us all about yourself, your household, and the effect which this advertisement had upon your fortunes. You will first make a note, Doctor, of the paper and the date." WATSON: "It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, Just two months ago." HOLMES: "Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?" WILSON: "Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; "I have a small pawnbroker's business at Coburg Square, near the City. It's not a very large affair, and of late years it has not done more than just give me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants, but now I only keep one; and I would have a job to pay him but that he is willing to come for half wages so as to learn the business." HOLMES: "What is the name of this obliging [helpful] youth?" asked Sherlock Holmes. WILSON: "His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth, either. It's hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very well that he could better himself and earn twice what I am able to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?" HOLMES: "Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employee who comes under the full market price. It is not a common experience among employers in this age. I don't know that your assistant is not as remarkable as your advertisement." WILSON: "Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson. "Never was such a fellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his main fault, but on the whole he's a good worker. There's no vice in him." HOLMES: "He is still with you, I presume?" WILSON: "Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking and keeps the place clean -- that's all I have in the house, for I am a widower and never had any family. We live very quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads and pay our debts, if we do nothing more. "The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very paper in his hand, and he says: SPAULDING: " I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man. WILSON: " Why that? I asks. 18

19 SPAULDING: " Why, here's another vacancy on the League of the Red-headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than there are men, so that the trustees are at their wits' end what to do with the money. If my hair would only change color, here's a nice little crib [job] all ready for me to step into. " WILSON: " Why, what is it, then? I asked. You see. Mr. Holmes, I am a very stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my having to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over the door-mat. In that way I didn't know much of what was going on outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news. SPAULDING: " Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men? [WILSON:] he asked with his eyes open. WILSON: " Never. SPAULDING: " `Why, wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the vacancies. " WILSON: And what are they worth? I asked. SPAULDING: " "Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and it need not interfere very much with one's other occupations. " WILSON: "Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for the business has not been over-good for some years, and an extra couple of hundred would have been very handy. Tell me all about it, said I. SPAULDING: " Well [WILSON]: said he, showing me the advertisement, SPAULDING: you can see for yourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address where you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, the League was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all redheaded men; so when he died it was found that he had left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy berths [jobs] to men whose hair is of that colour. From all I hear it is splendid pay and very little to do. WILSON: But, said I, `there would be millions of red-headed men who would apply. " SPAULDING: Not so many as you might think," he answered. "You see it is really confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had started from London when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a good turn. Then, again, I have heard it is no use your applying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything but real bright, blazing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of a few hundred pounds. " 19

20 WILSON: Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that if there was to be any competition in the matter I stood as good a chance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so much about it that I thought he might prove useful, so I just ordered him to put up the shutters for the day and to come right away with me. He was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for the address that was given us in the advertisement. I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope's Court looked like a coster's [fruit salesman s] orange barrow. I should not have thought there were so many in the whole country as were brought together by that single advertisement. Every shade of colour they were -- straw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the real vivid flame-coloured tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding would not hear of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed and pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up to the steps which led to the office. There was a double stream upon the stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found ourselves in the office. HOLMES: Your experience has been a most entertaining one," remarked Holmes as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff. "Pray continue your very interesting statement." WILSON: "There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a deal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that was even redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came up, and then he always managed to find some fault in them which would disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy matter, after all. However, when our turn came the little man was much more favourable to me than to any of the others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that he might have a private word with us. SPAULDING: This is Mr. Jabez Wilson, and he is willing to fill a vacancy in the League. ROSS: And he is admirably suited for it. He has every requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine. [WILSON]: He took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my success. ROSS: It would be injustice to hesitate. You will, however, I am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution. [WILSON]: With that he seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the pain. ROSS: There is water in your eyes. I perceive that all is as it should be. But we have to be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell you tales of cobbler's wax which would disgust you with human nature. [WILSON]: He stepped over to the window and shouted through it at the top of his voice that the vacancy was filled. A groan of 20

21 disappointment came up from below, and the folk all trooped away in different directions until there was not a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the manager. ROSS: My name is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family? WILSON: "I answered that I had not. His face fell immediately. ROSS: Dear me! That is very serious indeed! I am sorry to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the propagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for their maintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a bachelor. WILSON: "My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for a few minutes he said that it would be all right. ROSS: In the case of another, the objection might be fatal, but we must stretch a point in favour of a man with such a head of hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your new duties? WILSON: Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already, said I. SPAULDING: Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson! I should be able to look after that for you. WILSON: What would be the hours? I asked. ROSS: Ten to two. WILSON: Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, Mr. Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would see to anything that turned up. That would suit me very well, said I. And the pay? ROSS: Is 4 pounds a week. WILSON: And the work? ROSS: Is purely nominal [minor]. WILSON: What do you call purely nominal? ROSS: Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You don't comply with the conditions if you budge from the office during that time. 21

22 WILSON: It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving, said I. ROSS: No excuse will avail [work]. Neither sickness nor business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your billet [money]. WILSON: And the work? ROSS: Is to copy out the Encyclopedia Britannica. There is the first volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be ready to-morrow? WILSON: Certainly, I answered. ROSS: Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to gain. WILSON: He bowed me out of the room and I went home with my assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own good fortune. "Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the Encyclopedia Britannica. Vincent Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for Pope's Court. "Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off upon the letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from time to time to see that all was right with me. At two o'clock he bade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had written, and locked the door of the office after me. "This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns [gold coins] for my week's work. It was the same next week, and the same the week after. Every morning I was there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk the loss of it. "Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with diligence that I might get on to the B's before very long. It cost 22

23 me something in foolscap [paper], and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the whole business came to an end." HOLMES: "To an end?" WILSON: Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usual at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little square of card-board hammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself." He held up a piece of white card-board about the size of a sheet of note-paper. It read in this fashion: THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE IS DISSOLVED [broken up]. October 9, Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a roar of laughter. WILSON: "I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried our client, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "If you can do nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere." HOLMES: "No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he had half risen. "I really wouldn't miss your case for the world. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it. Pray [please] what steps did you take when you found the card upon the door?" WILSON: "I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he had never heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the name was new to him. WILSON: Well, said I, `the gentleman at No. 4.' LANDLORD: What, the red-headed man? WILSON: Yes. LANDLORD: " `Oh,' [WILSON]: said he, "his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor [lawyer] and was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises were ready. He moved out yesterday. " WILSON: Where could I find him? 23

24 LANDLORD: Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King Edward Street, near St. Paul's. WILSON: "I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross." HOLMES: "And what did you do then?" WILSON: "I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right away to you." HOLMES: "And you did very wisely. Your case is an exceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you have told me I think that it is possible that graver [more serious] issues hang from it than might at first sight appear." WILSON: "Grave enough! Why, I have lost four pound a week." HOLMES: "As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes, "I do not see that you have any grievance [complaint] against this extraordinary league. On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some thirty pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject which comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing by them." WILSON: "No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and what their object was in playing this prank -- if it was a prank -- upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two and thirty pounds." HOLMES: "We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first, one or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first called your attention to the advertisement -- how long had he been with you?" WILSON: HOLMES: WILSON: HOLMES: WILSON: HOLMES: "About a month then." How did he come?" "In answer to an advertisement." Was he the only applicant?" "No, I had a dozen." Why did you pick him?" 24

25 WILSON: HOLMES: WILSON: HOLMES: "Because he was handy and would come cheap." "At half-wages, in fact." "Yes." What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?" WILSON: "Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face, though he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his forehead." Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. HOLMES: "I thought as much. Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for earrings?" WILSON: HOLMES: WILSON: HOLMES: WILSON: "Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for him when he was a lad." "Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "He is still with you?" "Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him." "And has your business been attended to in your absence?" "Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do of a morning." HOLMES: "That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. Today is Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion." HOLMES: "Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor had left us, "what do you make of it all?" WATSON: "I make nothing of it," I answered frankly. "It is a most mysterious business." HOLMES: "As a rule, the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter." WATSON: "What are you going to do, then?" HOLMES: "To smoke. It is quite a three pipe problem, and I beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." He curled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when 25

26 he suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put his pipe down upon the mantelpiece. HOLMES: "Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he remarked. "What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few hours?" WATSON: "I have nothing to do today. My practice is never very absorbing." HOLMES: "Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City first, and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good deal of German music on the programme, which is rather more to my taste than Italian or French. It is introspective [meditative], and I want to introspect [meditate]. Come along!" We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story which we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky, little, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked out into a small railedin enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with "JABEZ WILSON" in white letters, upon a corner house, announced the place where our red-headed client carried on his business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally he returned to the pawnbroker's, and, having thumped vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step in. HOLMES: "Thank you. I only wished to ask you how you would go from here to the Strand." SPAULDING: "Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant promptly, closing the door. HOLMES: "Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away. "He is, in my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something of him before." "Evidently," said I, Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a good deal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired your way merely in order that you might see him." HOLMES: WATSON: HOLMES: WATSON: "Not him." What then? "The knees of his trousers." And what did you see?" 26

27 HOLMES: WATSON: "What I expected to see." Why did you beat the pavement?" HOLMES: "My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it." The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City to the north and west. The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to realize as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business premises that they really abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant [quiet] square which we had just quitted [left]. HOLMES: "Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along the line, "I should like just to remember the order of the houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London. There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building depot. That carries us right on to the other block. And now, Doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients to vex [worry] us with their conundrums." My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face and his languid [slow], dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes, the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and astuteness [intelligence] represented, as I have often thought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from extreme languor [slowness] to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was never so truly formidable [impressive] as when, for days on end, he had been lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his black-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods would look askance [sideways] at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St. James's Hall I felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set himself to hunt down. HOLMES: "You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked as we emerged. 27

28 WATSON: "Yes, it would be as well." HOLMES: And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This business at Coburg Square is serious." WATSON: "Why serious?" HOLMES: A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But today being Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help tonight." WATSON: "At what time?" HOLMES: Ten will be early enough." WATSON: "I shall be at Baker Street at ten." HOLMES: "Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger, so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd. I trust that I am not more dense [stupid] than my neighbours, but I was always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to happen, while to me the whole business was still confused and grotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the Encyclopedia down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me. What was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed? Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was a formidable [frightening] man -- a man who might play a deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter aside until night should bring an explanation. It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my way across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two hansoms [horse-drawn carriages] were standing at the door, and as I entered the passage I heard the sound of voices from above. On entering his room I found Holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom I recognized as Peter Jones, the official police agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat. HOLMES: "Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his peajacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. "Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard [British 28

29 Police]? Let me introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night's adventure." JONES: "We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," said Jones in his consequential [important] way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running down." MERRYWEATHER: "I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase," observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily. JONES: "You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said the police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, which are, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of the Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the official force." MERRYWEATHER: "Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said the stranger with deference [respect]. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber [card game]. It is the first Saturday night for sevenand-twenty years that I have not had my rubber." HOLMES: "I think you will find that you will play for a higher stake tonight than you have ever done yet, and that the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will be some 30,000 pounds; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands." JONES: "John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and I would rather have my bracelets [handcuffs] on him than on any criminal in London. He's a remarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning [clever] as his fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where to find the man himself. He'll crack a crib [commit a burglary] in Scotland one week, and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next. I've been on his track for years and have never set eyes on him yet." HOLMES: "I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you tonight. I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is past ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you two will take the first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the second." Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets until we emerged into Farrington Street. HOLMES: "We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is 29

30 not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile [idiot] in his profession. He has one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we are, and they are waiting for us." We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and, following the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage and through a side door, which he opened for us. Within there was a small corridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate. This also was opened, and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which terminated at another formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all round with crates and massive boxes. HOLMES: "You are not very vulnerable [defenseless] from above," Holmes remarked as he held up the lantern and gazed about him. MERRYWEATHER: "Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon the flags which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!" he remarked, looking up in surprise. HOLMES: "I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!" said Holmes severely. "You have already imperiled [endangered] the whole success of our expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit down upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?" The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a very injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his knees upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began to examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few seconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again and put his glass in his pocket. HOLMES: "We have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they can hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. Then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work the longer time they will have for their escape. We are at present, Doctor -- as no doubt you have divined [figured out] -- in the cellar of the City branch of one of the principal London banks. Mr. Merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will explain to you that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of London should take a considerable interest in this cellar at present." MERRYWEATHER: "It is our French gold," whispered the director. "We have had several warnings that an attempt might be made upon it." WATSON: "Your French gold?" MERRYWEATHER: Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources and borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons [French gold coin] from the Bank of France. It has become known that we have never had occasion to unpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The crate upon which I sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between layers of lead foil. Our 30

31 reserve of bullion [gold] is much larger at present than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the directors have had misgivings [worries] upon the subject." HOLMES: "Which were very well justified," observed Holmes. "And now it is time that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an hour matters will come to a head [reach a climax]. In the meantime Mr. Merryweather, we must put the screen over that dark lantern." MERRYWEATHER: "And sit in the dark?" HOLMES: I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and I thought that, as we were a partie carree [group of four], you might have your rubber [card game] after all. But I see that the enemy's preparations have gone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And, first of all, we must choose our positions. These are daring men, and though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate, and do you conceal yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a light upon them, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no compunction [second thoughts] about shooting them down." I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front of his lantern and left us in pitch darkness -- such an absolute darkness as I have never before experienced. The smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the light was still there, ready to flash out at a moment's notice. To me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the vault. HOLMES: "They have but one retreat," whispered Holmes. "That is back through the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done what I asked you, Jones?" JONES: HOLMES: "I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door." "Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent and wait." What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but an hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have almost gone, and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs were weary and stiff, for I feared to change my position; yet my nerves were worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so acute that I could not only hear the gentle breathing of my companions, but I could distinguish the deeper, heavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note of the bank director. From my position I could look over the case in the direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light. At first it was but a lurid [glowing] spark upon the stone pavement. Then it lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared; a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the centre of the little area of light. For a minute or more the hand, with its writhing [squirming] fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then it 31

32 was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark again save [except] the single lurid spark which marked a chink [crack] between the stones. Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending, tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon its side and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed the light of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand on either side of the aperture [opening], drew itself shoulder-high and waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In another instant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling after him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face and a shock of very red hair. JOHN CLAY: "It's all clear," he whispered. Have you the chisel and the bags? Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I'll swing for it!" Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the collar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of rending [ripping] cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts [ends of his jacket]. The light flashed upon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes's hunting crop came down on the man's wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone floor. HOLMES: "It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes blandly [mildly]. "You have no chance at all." JOHN CLAY: "So I see," the other answered with the utmost coolness. "I fancy that my pal is all right, though I see you have got his coat-tails." HOLMES: "There are three men waiting for him at the door. JOHN CLAY: you." "Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I must compliment HOLMES: "And I you," Holmes answered. Your red-headed idea was very new and effective." JONES: "You'll see your pal again presently. He's quicker at climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the derbies [handcuffs]." JOHN CLAY: "I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands," remarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. "You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have the goodness, also, when you address me always to say "sir" and `please.'" JONES: "All right," said Jones with a stare and a snigger [laugh]. "Well, would you please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry your Highness to the police-station?" JOHN CLAY: "That is better," said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bow to the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the detective. 32

33 MERRYWEATHER: "Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather, as we followed them from the cellar, "I do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated in the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts at bank robbery that have ever come within my experience." HOLMES: "I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr. John Clay. I have been at some small expense over this matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond that I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in many ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of the Red-headed League." ***************** HOLMES: "You see, Watson," he explained in the early hours of the morning as we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, "it was perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible object of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of the League, and the copying of the Encyclopedia, must be to get this not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number of hours every day. It was a curious way of managing it, but, really, it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was no doubt suggested to Clay's ingenious mind by the colour of his accomplice's hair. The 4 pounds a week was a lure which must draw him, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands? They put in the advertisement, one rogue [scoundrel] has the temporary office, the other rogue incites [encourages] the man to apply for it, and together they manage to secure his absence every morning in the week. From the time that I heard of the assistant having come for half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive for securing the situation [getting the job]." WATSON: "But how could you guess what the motive was?" HOLMES: "Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a mere vulgar intrigue [inappropriate interest]. That, however, was out of the question. The man's business was a small one, and there was nothing in his house which could account for such elaborate preparations, and such an expenditure [costs] as they were at. It must, then, be something out of the house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant's fondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the cellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangled clue. Then I made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that I had to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in London. He was doing something in the cellar -- something which took many hours a day for months on end. What could it be, once more? I could think of nothing save that he was running a tunnel to some other building. "So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was ascertaining [figuring out] whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind. It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the assistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes [conflicts], but we had never set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his face. His knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself have remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of those hours of burrowing [digging]. The only remaining point was what they were burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City and Suburban Bank 33

34 abutted [adjoined] on our friend's premises, and felt that I had solved my problem. When you drove home after the concert I called upon Scotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with the result that you have seen." WATSON: "And how could you tell that they would make their attempt tonight?" I asked. HOLMES: "Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that they cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence -- in other words, that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential that they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the bullion [gold] might be removed. Saturday would suit them better than any other day, as it would give them two days for their escape. For all these reasons I expected them to come tonight." WATSON: "You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed in unfeigned [honest] admiration "It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true." HOLMES: "It saved me from ennui [boredom]," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I already feel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort to escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little problems help me to do so." WATSON: "And you are a benefactor [supporter] of the race [mankind]," said I. He shrugged his shoulders. HOLMES: "Well, perhaps, after all, it is of some little use," he remarked. ""L'homme c'est rien -- l'oeuvre c'est tout [man is nothing work is everything]," as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand." 34

35 The Adventure of the Speckled Band by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Part One WATSON: ON GLANCING OVER my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace [ordinary]; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which presented more singular [unusual] features than that which was associated with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in question occurred in the early days of my association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time, from which I have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I have reasons to know that there are widespread rumors as to the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even more terrible than the truth. It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment [annoyance], for I was myself regular in my habits. HOLMES: Very sorry to bother you, Watson, said he, but it's the common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been [woken up], she [called] upon me, and I on you. WATSON: What is it, then a fire? HOLMES: No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis [city] at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something very pressing [important] which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give you the chance. WATSON: My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything. I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis with which he unraveled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered. HOLMES: Good-morning, madam, said Holmes cheerily. My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light the fire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot coffee, for I observe that you are shivering. 35

36 HELEN: It is not cold which makes me shiver, said the woman in a low voice, changing her seat as requested. HOLMES: What, then? HELEN: It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror. WATSON: She raised her veil as she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable [sad] state of agitation [emotional disturbance], her face all drawn and grey, with restless frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature grey, and her expression was weary and haggard [tired]. Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick, all-comprehensive glances. HOLMES: You must not fear, said he soothingly, bending forward and patting her forearm. We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see. HELEN: You know me, then? HOLMES: No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a dog-cart [small horse-drawn carriage], along heavy roads, before you reached the station. WATSON: The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment [confusion] at my companion. HOLMES: There is no mystery, my dear madam, said he, smiling. The left arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver. HELEN: Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct, said she. I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at twenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues. I have no one to turn to none, save only one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had your address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me, too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness which surrounds me? At present it is out of my power to reward [pay] you for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall be married, with the control of my own income, and then at least you shall not find me ungrateful. WATSON: Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small casebook, which he consulted. HOLMES: Farintosh, said he. Ah yes, I recall the case; it was concerned with an opal tiara [crown]. I think it was before your time, Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote the same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As to reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty to defray [pay] whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which suits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before us everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the matter. HELEN: Alas! replied our visitor, the very horror of my situation lies in the fact that my fears are so vague [unclear], and my suspicions depend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial [unimportant] to another, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to look for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it as the fancies [imagination] of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have heard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold [multiple] wickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amid the dangers which encompass me. 36

37 HOLMES: I am all attention, madam. HELEN: My name is Helen Stone, and I am living with my stepfather, who is the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in England, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of Surrey. WATSON: Holmes nodded his head. HOLMES: The name is familiar to me, said he. HELEN: The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north, and Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four successive [following] heirs were of a dissolute [immoral] and wasteful disposition [mood], and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the days of the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground, and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under a heavy mortgage. The last squire [attendant] dragged out his existence there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper [beggar]; but his only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new conditions, obtained an advance [loan] from a relative, which enabled him to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta [in India], where, by his professional skill and his force of character, he established a large practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he beat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital sentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and afterwards returned to England a morose [gloomy] and disappointed man. When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stone, the young widow of Major-General Stone, of the Bengal Artillery. My sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old at the time of my mother's re-marriage. She had a considerable sum of money not less than 1000 a year and this she bequeathed [left by will] to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with him, with a provision [precondition] that a certain annual sum should be allowed to each of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after our return to England my mother died she was killed eight years ago in a railway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his attempts to establish himself in practice in London and took us to live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The money which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness. But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time. Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our neighbors, who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of Stoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in his house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious [violent] quarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violence of temper approaching to mania [rage] has been hereditary in the men of the family, and in my stepfather's case it had, I believe, been intensified by his long residence in the tropics. A series of disgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the policecourt, until at last he became the terror of the village, and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of immense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger. Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet [low wall] into a stream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I could gather together that I was able to avert [avoid] another public exposure. He had no friends at all save [except] the wandering gypsies [people who move from place to place], and he would give these vagabonds leave [permission] to encamp upon the few acres of bramblecovered land which represent the family estate, and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents, wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. He has a passion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by a correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon, which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by the villagers almost as much as their master. You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I had no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with us, and for a long time we did all the work of the house. She was but thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already begun to whiten, even as mine has. 37

38 HOLMES: Your sister is dead, then? HELEN: She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish to speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I have described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own age and position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother's maiden sister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady's house. Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met there a half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. My stepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight [two weeks] of the day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event occurred which has deprived [taken from] me of my only companion. WATSON: Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now and glanced across at his visitor. HOLMES: Pray be precise as to details, said he. HELEN: It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have already said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited [lived in]. The bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms being in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms the first is Dr. Roylott's, the second my sister's, and the third my own. There is no communication between them, but they all open out into the same corridor [hall]. Do I make myself plain? HOLMES: Perfectly so. HELEN: The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That fatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the smell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom to smoke. She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. At eleven o'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door and looked back. JULIA: Tell me, Helen, have you ever heard anyone whistle in the dead of the night? HELEN: Never, said I. JULIA: I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in your sleep? HELEN: Certainly not. But why? JULIA: Because during the last few nights I have always, about three in the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from perhaps from the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would just ask you whether you had heard it. HELEN: No, I have not. It must be those wretched gypsies in the plantation [estate]. JULIA: Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you did not hear it also. HELEN: Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you. JULIA: Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate. HELEN: She smiled back at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her key turn in the lock. 38

39 HOLMES: Indeed, said Holmes. Was it your custom always to lock yourselves in at night? HELEN: Always. HOLMES: And why? HELEN: I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and a baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were locked. HOLMES: Quite so. Pray [please] proceed with your statement. HELEN: I could not sleep that night. A vague [unclear] feeling of impending [approaching] misfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect, were twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two souls which are so closely allied [connected]. It was a wild night. The wind was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing against the windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub [loud confused noise] of the gale [strong wind], there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. I knew that it was my sister's voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I opened my door I seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and a few moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen. As I ran down the passage, my sister's door was unlocked, and revolved slowly upon its hinges. I stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appear at the opening, her face blanched [white] with terror, her hands groping for help, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a drunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that moment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to the ground. She writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were dreadfully convulsed [trembling]. At first I thought that she had not recognized me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out in a voice which I shall never forget, JULIA: Oh, my God! Helen! It was the band! The speckled band! There was something else which she would fain [gladly] have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the air in the direction of the doctor's room, but a fresh convulsion [muscular spasm] seized her and choked her words. I rushed out, calling loudly for my stepfather, and I met him hastening [hurrying] from his room in his dressing-gown. When he reached my sister's side she was unconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent for medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain [useless], for she slowly sank and died without having recovered her consciousness. Such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister. HOLMES: One moment, said Holmes, are you sure about this whistle and metallic sound? Could you swear to it? HELEN: That was what the county coroner [public official responsible for investigating violent deaths] asked me at the inquiry. It is my strong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash of the gale [strong wind] and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have been deceived. HOLMES: Was your sister dressed? HELEN: No, she was in her night-dress. In her right hand was found the charred [burned] stump of a match, and in her left a match-box. HOLMES: Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when the alarm took place. That is important. And what conclusions did the coroner come to? HELEN: He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott's conduct had long been notorious [known widely] in the county, but he was unable to find any satisfactory cause of death. My evidence showed that the door had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows were blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars, which were secured every night. The walls were carefully sounded, and were shown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was also thoroughly examined, with the same result. The 39

40 chimney is wide, but is barred [blocked] up by four large staples. It is certain, therefore, that my sister was quite alone when she met her end. Besides, there were no marks of any violence upon her. HOLMES: How about poison? HELEN: The doctors examined her for it, but without success. HOLMES: What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then? HELEN: It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock, though what it was that frightened her I cannot imagine. HOLMES: Were there gypsies in the plantation [estate] at the time? HELEN: Yes, there are nearly always some there. HOLMES: Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion [reference] to a band a speckled band? HELEN: Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of delirium [mental confusion], sometimes that it may have referred to some band of people, perhaps to these very gypsies in the plantation. I do not know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wear over their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which she used. WATSON: Holmes shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied. HOLMES: These are very deep waters, said he; pray go on with your narrative. HELEN: Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until lately lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend, whom I have known for many years, has done me the honor to ask my hand in marriage. His name is Armitage Percy Armitage the second son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My stepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to be married in the course of the spring. Two days ago some repairs were started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom wall has been pierced, so that I have had to move into the chamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in which she slept. Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last night, as I lay awake, thinking over her terrible fate, I suddenly heard in the silence of the night the low whistle which had been the herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit the lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was too shaken to go to bed again, however, so I dressed, and as soon as it was daylight I slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which is opposite, and drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on this morning with the one object of seeing you and asking your advice. HOLMES: You have done wisely, said my friend. But have you told me all? HELEN: Yes, all. HOLMES: Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening [protecting] your stepfather. HELEN: Why, what do you mean? WATSON: For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which fringed [bordered] the hand that lay upon our visitor's knee. Five little livid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed upon the white wrist. HOLMES: You have been cruelly used [beaten], said Holmes. 40

41 WATSON: The lady colored deeply and covered over her injured wrist. HELEN: He is a hard man, she said, and perhaps he hardly knows his own strength. WATSON: There was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire. HOLMES: This is a very deep business, he said at last. There are a thousand details which I should desire to know before I decide upon our course of action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If we were to come to Stoke Moran to-day, would it be possible for us to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather? HELEN: As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some most important business. It is probable that he will be away all day, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. We have a housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily get her out of the way. HOLMES: Excellent. You are not averse [opposed] to this trip, Watson? WATSON: By no means. HOLMES: Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself? HELEN: I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I am in town. But I shall return by the twelve o'clock train, so as to be there in time for your coming. HOLMES: And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself some small business matters to attend to. Will you not wait and breakfast? HELEN: No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I have confided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you again this afternoon. She dropped her thick black veil over her face and glided from the room. HOLMES: And what do you think of it all, Watson? asked Sherlock Holmes, leaning back in his chair. WATSON: It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister [evil] business. HOLMES: Dark enough and sinister [evil] enough. WATSON: Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls are sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable, then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her mysterious end. HOLMES: What becomes, then, of these nocturnal [nighttime] whistles, and what of the very peculiar words of the dying woman? WATSON: I cannot think. HOLMES: When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of a band of gypsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor, the fact that we have every reason to believe that the doctor has an interest in preventing his stepdaughter's marriage, the dying allusion [reference] to a band, and, finally, the fact that Miss Helen Stone heard a metallic clang, which might have been caused by one of those metal bars that secured the shutters falling back into its place, I think that there is good ground to think that the mystery may be cleared along those lines. 41

42 WATSON: But what, then, did the gypsies do? HOLMES: I cannot imagine. WATSON: I see many objections to any such theory. HOLMES: And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going to Stoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections are fatal, or if they may be explained away. But what in the name of the devil! WATSON: The outburst had been drawn from my companion by the fact that our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had framed himself in the aperture [opening]. His costume was a peculiar mixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters [leather coverings for the legs or ankles], with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his breadth [width] seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face, seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us, while his deep-set, bile [anger]- shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey. DR. GRIMESBY ROYLOTT: Which of you is Holmes? asked this apparition. HOLMES: My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me, said my companion quietly. DR. ROYLOTT: I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran. HOLMES: Indeed, Doctor, said Holmes blandly [without emotion]. Pray take a seat. DR. ROYLOTT: I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I have traced [followed] her. What has she been saying to you? HOLMES: It is a little cold for the time of the year, said Holmes. DR. ROYLOTT: What has she been saying to you? screamed the old man furiously. HOLMES: But I have heard that the crocuses [type of flower] promise well, continued my companion imperturbably [calmly]. DR. ROYLOTT: Ha! You put me off, do you? said our new visitor, taking a step forward and shaking his hunting-crop. I know you, you scoundrel [villain]! I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler [intrusive person]. WATSON: My friend smiled. DR. ROYLOTT: Holmes, the busybody! WATSON: His smile broadened. DR. ROYLOTT: Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office! WATSON: Holmes chuckled heartily. 42

43 HOLMES: Your conversation is most entertaining, said he. When you go out close the door, for there is a decided draught. DR. ROYLOTT: I will go when I have said my say. Don't you dare to meddle with my affairs. I know that Miss Stone has been here. I traced her! I am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here. WATSON: He stepped swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with his huge brown hands. DR. ROYLOTT: See that you keep yourself out of my grip, he snarled, and hurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the room. HOLMES: He seems a very amiable [likable] person, said Holmes, laughing. I am not quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him that my grip was not much more feeble than his own. WATSON: As he spoke he picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort, straightened it out again. HOLMES: Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the official detective force! This incident gives zest to our investigation, however, and I only trust that our little friend will not suffer from her imprudence [unwise behavior] in allowing this brute to trace her. And now, Watson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards I shall walk down to Doctors' Commons, where I hope to get some data which may help us in this matter. **** WATSON: It was nearly one o'clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from his excursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over with notes and figures. HOLMES: I have seen the will of the deceased wife, said he. To determine its exact meaning I have been obliged [duty-bound] to work out the present prices of the investments with which it is concerned. The total income, which at the time of the wife's death was little short of 1100, is now, through the fall in agricultural prices, not more than 750. Each daughter can claim an income of 250, in case of marriage. It is evident, therefore, that if both girls had married, this beauty [the doctor he s being sarcastic] would have had a mere pittance [very small amount of money], while even one of them would cripple him to a very serious extent. My morning's work has not been wasted, since it has proved that he has the very strongest motives for standing in the way of anything of the sort. And now, Watson, this is too serious for dawdling [wasting time], especially as the old man is aware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you are ready, we shall call a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be very much obliged [thankful] if you would slip your revolver into your pocket. An Eley's No. 2 [type of gun] is an excellent argument with [protection against] gentlemen who can twist steel pokers into knots. That and a toothbrush are, I think, all that we need. WATSON: At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for Leatherhead, where we hired a trap [a light two-wheeled carriage] at the station inn and drove for four or five miles through the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out their first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant smell of the moist earth. To me at least there was a strange contrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister quest upon which we were engaged. My companion sat in the front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his chest, buried in the deepest thought. Suddenly, however, he started [moved], tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed over the meadows. HOLMES: Look there! said he. 43

44 WATSON: A heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope, thickening into a grove at the highest point. From amid the branches there jutted [extended] out the grey gables and high roof-tree of a very old mansion. HOLMES: Stoke Moran? said he. DRIVER: Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, remarked the driver. HOLMES: There is some building going on there, said Holmes; that is where we are going. DRIVER: There's the village, said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofs some distance to the left; but if you want to get to the house, you'll find it shorter to get over this stile [steps for crossing a wall], and so by the foot-path over the fields. There it is, where the lady is walking. HOLMES: And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stone, observed Holmes, shading his eyes. Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest. WATSON: We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way to Leatherhead. HOLMES: I thought it as well, said Holmes as we climbed the stile, that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or on some definite business. It may stop his gossip. Good-afternoon, Miss Stone. You see that we have been as good as our word. WATSON: Our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a face which spoke her joy. HELEN: I have been waiting so eagerly for you, she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. All has turned out splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely that he will be back before evening. HOLMES: We have had the pleasure of making the doctor's acquaintance, said Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred. Miss Stone turned white to the lips as she listened. HELEN: Good heavens! she cried, he has followed me, then. HOLMES: So it appears. HELEN: He is so cunning [tricky] that I never know when I am safe from him. What will he say when he returns? HOLMES: He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone more cunning than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself up from him to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to your aunt's at Harrow. Now, we must make the best use of our time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to examine. WATSON: The building was of grey, lichen-blotched [algae covered] stone, with a high central portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out on each side. In one of these wings the windows were broken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly caved in, a picture of ruin. The central portion was in little better repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern, and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up from the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided. Some scaffolding had been constructed against the end wall, and the stonework had been broken into, but there were no signs of any workmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the outsides of the windows 44

45 The Adventure of the Speckled Band by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Part Two HOLMES: This [window], I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, the centre one to your sister's, and the one next to the main building to Dr. Roylott's chamber [bedroom]? HELEN: Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one. HOLMES: Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does not seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end wall. HELEN: There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me from my room. HOLMES: Ah! that is suggestive [suspicious]. Now, on the other side of this narrow wing runs the corridor [hallway] from which these three rooms open. There are windows in it, of course? HELEN: Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass through. HOLMES: As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were unapproachable from that side. Now, would you have the kindness to go into your room and bar your shutters? WATSON: Miss Stone did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination through the open window, endeavored [tried] in every way to force the shutter open, but without success. There was no slit through which a knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then with his lens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built firmly into the massive masonry [stonework]. HOLMES: Hum! said he, scratching his chin in some perplexity, my theory certainly presents some difficulties. No one could pass these shutters if they were bolted. Well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon the matter. WATSON: A small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which the three bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the third chamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which Miss Stone was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her fate. It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. A brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow white counter-paned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the left-hand side of the window. These articles, with two small wicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save [except] for a square of Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards round and the paneling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discolored that it may have dated from the original building of the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat silent, while his eyes traveled round and round and up and down, taking in every detail of the apartment. HOLMES: Where does that bell communicate with? he asked at last pointing to a thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the tassel actually lying upon the pillow. HELEN: It goes to the housekeeper's room. HOLMES: It looks newer than the other things? HELEN: Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago. 45

46 HOLMES: Your sister asked for it, I suppose? HELEN: No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we wanted for ourselves. HOLMES: Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there. You will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to this floor. WATSON: He threw himself down upon his face with his lens in his hand and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examining minutely the cracks between the boards. Then he did the same with the wood-work with which the chamber was paneled. Finally he walked over to the bed and spent some time in staring at it and in running his eye up and down the wall. Finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug. HOLMES: Why, it's a dummy, said he. HELEN: Won't it ring? HOLMES: No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting. You can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening for the [air vent] is. HELEN: How very absurd! I never noticed that before. HOLMES: Very strange! muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. There are one or two very singular [strange] points about this room. For example, what a fool a builder must be to open [an air vent] into another room, when, with the same trouble, he might have [opened it to] the outside air! HELEN: That is also quite modern, said the lady. HOLMES: Done about the same time as the bell-rope? remarked Holmes. HELEN: Yes, there were several little changes carried out about that time. HOLMES: They seem to have been of a most interesting character dummy bell-ropes, and [air vents] which do not [provide fresh air]. With your permission, Miss Stone, we shall now carry our researches into the inner apartment. WATSON: Dr. Grimesby Roylott's chamber was larger than that of his stepdaughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small wooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an armchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a round table, and a large iron safe were the principal things which met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round and examined each and all of them with the keenest interest. HOLMES: What's in here? he asked, tapping the safe. HELEN: My stepfather's business papers. HOLMES: Oh! You have seen inside, then? HELEN: Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of papers. HOLMES: There isn't a cat in it, for example? HELEN: No. What a strange idea! 46

47 HOLMES: Well, look at this! WATSON: He took up a small saucer of milk which stood on the top of it. HELEN: No; we don't keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon. HOLMES: Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I daresay. There is one point which I should wish to determine. WATSON: He squatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat of it with the greatest attention. HOLMES: Thank you. That is quite settled, said he, rising and putting his lens in his pocket. Hullo! Here is something interesting! WATSON: The object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on one corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so as to make a loop of whipcord [a tough twisted cord used for whips]. HOLMES: What do you make of that, Watson? WATSON: It's a common enough lash. But I don't know why it should be tied. HOLMES: That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! It's a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all. I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stone, and with your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn. WATSON: I had never seen my friend's face so grim [gloomy] or his brow so dark as it was when we turned from the scene of this investigation. We had walked several times up and down the lawn, neither Miss Stone nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts before he roused himself from his reverie [daydreaming]. HOLMES: It is very essential, Miss Stone, said he, that you should absolutely follow my advice in every respect. HELEN: I shall most certainly do so. HOLMES: The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may depend upon your compliance [cooperation]. HELEN: I assure you that I am in your hands. HOLMES: In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night in your room. WATSON: Both Miss Stone and I gazed at him in astonishment. HOLMES: Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the village inn over there? HELEN: Yes, that is the Crown. HOLMES: Very good. Your windows would be visible from there? HELEN: Certainly. 47

48 HOLMES: You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of [pretending to have] a headache, when your stepfather comes back. Then when you hear him retire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp [metal fastener], put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want into the room which you used to occupy. I have no doubt that, in spite of the repairs, you could manage there for one night. HELEN: Oh, yes, easily. HOLMES: The rest you will leave in our hands. HELEN: But what will you do? HOLMES: We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate the cause of this noise which has disturbed you. HELEN: I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your mind, said Miss Stone, laying her hand upon my companion's sleeve. HOLMES: Perhaps I have. HELEN: Then, for pity's sake, tell me what was the cause of my sister's death. HOLMES: I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak. HELEN: You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and if she died from some sudden fright. HOLMES: No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably some more tangible cause. And now, Miss Stone, we must leave you for if Dr. Roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in vain [pointless]. Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I have told you, you may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers that threaten you. WATSON: Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging [getting] a bedroom and sitting-room at the Crown Inn. They were on the upper floor, and from our window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and of the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House. At dusk we saw Dr. Grimesby Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside the little figure of the lad who drove him. The boy had some slight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the doctor's voice and saw the fury with which he shook his clinched fists at him. The trap drove on, and a few minutes later we saw a sudden light spring up among the trees as the lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms. HOLMES: Do you know, Watson, said Holmes as we sat together in the gathering darkness, I have really some scruples as to taking you to-night. There is a distinct element of danger. WATSON: Can I be of assistance? HOLMES: Your presence might be invaluable [very important]. WATSON: Then I shall certainly come. HOLMES: It is very kind of you. WATSON: You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these rooms than was visible to me. 48

49 HOLMES: No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine that you saw all that I did. WATSON: I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose that could answer I confess is more than I can imagine. HOLMES: You saw the ventilator, too? WATSON: Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to have a small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a rat could hardly pass through. HOLMES: I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to Stoke Moran. WATSON: My dear Holmes! HOLMES: Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that her sister could smell Dr. Roylott's cigar. Now, of course that suggested at once that there must be an [opening] between the two rooms. It could only be a small one, or it would have been remarked upon at the coroner's inquiry. I deduced a ventilator. WATSON: But what harm can there be in that? HOLMES: Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies. Does not that strike you? WATSON: I cannot as yet see any connection. HOLMES: Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed? WATSON: No. HOLMES: It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastened like that before? WATSON: I cannot say that I have. HOLMES: The lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the same relative position to the ventilator and to the rope or so we may call it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull. WATSON: Holmes, I cried, I seem to see dimly what you are hinting at. We are only just in time to prevent some subtle [hard to detect] and horrible crime. HOLMES: Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wrong he is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge. Palmer and Pritchard were among the heads of their profession. This man strikes even deeper, but I think, Watson, that we shall be able to strike deeper still. But we shall have horrors enough before the night is over; for goodness' sake let us have a quiet pipe and turn our minds for a few hours to something more cheerful. WATSON: About nine o'clock the light among the trees was extinguished, and all was dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hours passed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of eleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us. HOLMES: That is our signal, said Holmes, springing to his feet; it comes from the middle window. WATSON: As we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord, explaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance, and that it was possible that we might spend the night there. A moment 49

50 later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing in our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us through the gloom to guide us on our somber [gloomy] errand. There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for unrepaired breaches [holes] gaped in the old park wall. Making our way among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel bushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and then ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness. My God! I whispered; did you see it? Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like a vice upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a low laugh and put his lips to my ear. HOLMES: It is a nice household, he murmured. That is the baboon. WATSON: I had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected [owned]. There was a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at any moment. I confess that I felt easier in my mind when, after following Holmes' example and slipping off my shoes, I found myself inside the bedroom. My companion noiselessly closed the shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyes round the room. All was as we had seen it in the daytime. Then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he whispered into my ear again so gently that it was all that I could do to distinguish the words: HOLMES: The least sound would be fatal [deadly] to our plans. WATSON: I nodded to show that I had heard. HOLMES: We must sit without light. He would see it through the ventilator. WATSON: I nodded again. HOLMES: Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have your pistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and you in that chair. WATSON: I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table. Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness. How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil [watch]? I could not hear a sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state of nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut off the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness. From outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the deep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of an hour. How long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and one and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for whatever might befall. Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal. Someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle sound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though the smell grew stronger. For half an hour I sat with straining ears. Then suddenly another sound became audible [hearable] a very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping continually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with his cane at the bell-pull. 50

51 HOLMES: You see it, Watson? he yelled. You see it? WATSON: But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I heard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which my friend lashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his face was deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing [hatred]. He had ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most horrible cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled up louder and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled in the one dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the village, and even in the distant parsonage [church house], that cry raised the sleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and I stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it had died away into the silence from which it rose. WATSON: What can it mean? I gasped. HOLMES: It means that it is all over, Holmes answered. And perhaps, after all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will enter Dr. Roylott's room. WATSON: With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor. Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply from within. Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his heels, with the pistol ready in my hand. It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar [open]. Beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott clad in a long grey robe, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his lap lay the short stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day. His chin was tilted upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head. As we entered he made neither sound nor motion. HOLMES: The band! The speckled band! whispered Holmes. WATSON: I took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent. HOLMES: It is a swamp adder! cried Holmes; the deadliest snake in India. He has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for another. Let us thrust this creature back into its den, and we can then remove Miss Stone to some place of shelter and let the county police know what has happened. WATSON: As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man's lap, and throwing the noose [loop] round the reptile's neck he drew it from its horrid perch and, carrying it at arm's length, threw it into the iron safe, which he closed upon it. Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a narrative which has already run to too great a length by telling how we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow, of how the slow process of official inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to learn of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we traveled back next day. HOLMES: I had, said he, come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data. The presence of the gypsies, and the use of the 51

52 word band, which was used by the poor girl, no doubt, to explain the appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of by the light of her match, were sufficient [enough] to put me upon an entirely wrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I instantly reconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me that whatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not come either from the window or the door. My attention was speedily drawn, as I have already remarked to you, to this ventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the bed. The discovery that this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to the floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was there as a bridge for something passing through the hole and coming to the bed. The idea of a snake instantly occurred to me, and when I coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was furnished with a supply of creatures from India, I felt that I was probably on the right track. The idea of using a form of poison which could not possibly be discovered by any chemical test was just such a one as would occur to a clever and ruthless [cruel] man who had had an Eastern training. The rapidity [speed] with which such a poison would take effect would also, from his point of view, be an advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could distinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where the poison fangs had done their work. Then I thought of the whistle. Of course he must recall the snake before the morning light revealed it to the victim. He had trained it, probably by the use of the milk which we saw, to return to him when summoned. He would put it through this ventilator at the hour that he thought best, with the certainty that it would crawl down the rope and land on the bed. It might or might not bite the occupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but sooner or later she must fall a victim. I had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered his room. An inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in the habit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary in order that he should reach the ventilator. The sight of the safe, the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to finally dispel [get rid of] any doubts which may have remained. The metallic clang heard by Miss Stone was obviously caused by her stepfather hastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible occupant. Having once made up my mind, you know the steps which I took in order to put the matter to the proof. I heard the creature hiss as I have no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the light and attacked it. WATSON: With the result of driving it through the ventilator. HOLMES: And also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master at the other side. Some of the blows of my cane came home and roused its snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person it saw. In this way I am no doubt indirectly responsible for Dr. Grimesby Roylott's death, and I cannot say that it is likely to weigh very heavily upon my conscience [scruples]. 52

53 The Mystery of the Blue Jar by Agatha Christie Jack Hartington surveyed his topped drive ruefully [regretfully]. Standing by the ball, he looked back to the tee, measuring the distance. His face was eloquent of the disgusted contempt [hatred], which he felt. With a sigh he drew out his iron, executed two vicious swings with it, annihilating in turn a dandelion and a tuft of grass, and then addressed himself firmly to the ball. It is hard when you are twenty-four years of age, and your one ambition in life is to reduce your handicap at golf, to be forced to give time and attention to the problem of earning your living. Five and a half days out of the seven saw Jack imprisoned in a kind of mahogany tomb in the city. Saturday afternoon and Sunday were religiously devoted to the real business of life, and in an excess of zeal [excitement] he had taken rooms at the small hotel near Stourton Heath links, and rose daily at the hour of six a.m. to get in an hour's practice before catching the 8.46 to town. The only disadvantage to the plan was that he seemed constitutionally unable to hit anything at that hour in the morning. A foozled iron succeeded a muffed drive. His mashie shots ran merrily along the ground, and four putts seemed to be the minimum on any green. Jack sighed, grasped his iron firmly, and repeated to himself the magic words, "Left arm right through, and don't look up." He swung back - and then stopped, petrified, as a shrill cry rent the silence of the summer's morning. "Murder," it called. "Help! Murder!" It was a woman's voice, and it died away at the end into a sort of gurgling sigh. Jack flung down his club and ran in the direction of the sound. It had come from somewhere quite near at hand. This particular part of the course was quite wild country, and there were few houses about. In fact, there was only one near at hand, a small picturesque cottage, which Jack had often noticed for its air of Old World daintiness. It was towards this cottage that he ran. It was hidden from him by a heather-covered slope, but he rounded this and in less than a minute was standing with his hand on the small latched gate. There was a girl standing in the garden, and for a moment Jack jumped to the natural conclusion that it was she who had uttered the cry for help. But he quickly changed his mind. She had a little basket in her hand, half-full of weeds, and had evidently just straightened herself up from weeding a wide border of pansies. Her eyes, Jack noticed, were just like pansies themselves, velvety and soft and dark, and more violet than blue. She was like a pansy altogether, in her straight purple linen gown. The girl was looking at Jack with an expression midway between annoyance and surprise. I beg your pardon," said the young man. "But did you cry out just now?" "I? No, indeed." Her surprise was so genuine that Jack felt confused. Her voice was very soft and pretty with a slight foreign inflection [tone]. 53

54 "But you must have heard it," he exclaimed. "It came from somewhere just near here." She stared at him. "I heard nothing at all." Jack in his turn stared at her. It was perfectly incredible that she should not have heard that agonized appeal for help. And yet her calmness was so evident that he could not believe she was lying to him. "It came from somewhere close at hand," he insisted. She was looking at him suspiciously now. "What did it say?" she asked. "Murder - help! Murder!" "Murder - help, murder," repeated the girl. "Somebody has played a trick on you, Monsieur. Who could be murdered here?" Jack looked about him with a confused idea of discovering a dead body upon a garden path. Yet he was still perfectly sure that the cry he had heard was real and not a product of his imagination. He looked up at the cottage windows. Everything seemed perfectly still and peaceful. "Do you want to search our house?" asked the girl dryly. She was so clearly skeptical [doubtful] that Jack's confusion grew deeper than ever. He turned away. "I'm sorry," he said. "It must have come from higher up in the woods." He raised his cap and retreated. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that the girl had calmly resumed her weeding. For some time he hunted through the woods, but could find no sign of anything unusual having occurred. Yet he was as positive as ever that he had really heard the cry. In the end, he gave up the search and hurried home to bolt his breakfast and catch the 8.46 by the usual narrow margin of a second or so. His conscience pricked him a little as he sat in the train. Ought he not to have immediately reported what he had heard to the police? That he had not done so was solely owing to the pansy girl's incredulity [disbelief]. She had clearly suspected him of romancing - possibly the police might do the same. Was he absolutely certain that he had heard the cry? By now he was not nearly so positive as he had been - the natural result of trying to recapture a lost sensation. Was it some bird's cry in the distance that he had twisted into the resemblance of a woman's voice? But he rejected the suggestion angrily. It was a woman's voice, and he had heard it. He remembered looking at his watch just before the cry had come. As nearly as possible it must have been five and twenty minutes past seven when he had heard the call. That might be a fact useful to the police if - if anything should be discovered. Going home that evening, he scanned the evening papers anxiously to see if there were any mention of a crime having been committed. But there was nothing, and he hardly knew whether to be relieved or disappointed. 54

55 The following morning was wet - so wet that even the most ardent [passionate] golfer might have his enthusiasm damped. Jack rose at the last possible moment, gulped his breakfast, ran for the train, and again eagerly scanned the papers. Still no mention of any gruesome discovery having been made. The evening papers told the same tale. "Queer [strange]," said Jack to himself, "but there it is. Probably some blinking little boys having a game together up in the woods." He was out early the following morning. As he passed the cottage, he noted out of the tail of his eye that the girl was out in the garden again weeding. Evidently a habit of hers. He did a particularly good approach shot, and hoped that she had noticed it. As he teed up on the next tee, he glanced at his watch. "Just five and twenty past seven," he murmured. "I wonder - " The words were frozen on his lips. From behind him came the same cry which had so startled him before. A woman's voice, in dire distress. "Murder - help, murder!" Jack raced back. The pansy girl was standing by the gate. She looked startled, and Jack ran up to her triumphantly, crying out: "You heard it this time, anyway." Her eyes were wide with some emotion he could not fathom [understand] but he noticed that she shrank back from him as he approached, and even glanced back at the house, as though she meditated running to it for shelter. She shook her head, staring at him. "I heard nothing at all," she said wonderingly. It was as though she had struck him a blow between the eyes. Her sincerity was so evident that he could not disbelieve her. Yet he couldn't have imagined it - he couldn't - he couldn't - He heard her voice speaking gently - almost with sympathy. "You have had the shell-shock, yes?" In a flash he understood her look of fear, her glance back at the house. She thought that he suffered from delusions [hallucinations]... And then, like a [rush] of cold water, came the horrible thought, was she right? Did he suffer from delusions? Obsessed by the horror of the thought, he turned and stumbled away without vouchsafing a word. The girl watched him go, sighed, shook her head, and bent down to her weeding again. Jack endeavored to reason matters out with himself. "If I hear the damned thing again, at twenty-five minutes past seven," he said to himself, "it's clear that I've got hold of a hallucination of some sort. But I won't hear it." He was nervous all day, and went to bed early, determined to put the matter to the proof the following morning. 55

56 As was perhaps natural in such a case, he remained awake half the night and finally overslept himself. It was twenty past seven by the time he was clear of the hotel and running towards the links. He realized that he would not be able to get to the fatal spot by twenty-five past, but surely, if the voice were a hallucination pure and simple, he would hear it anywhere. He ran on, his eyes fixed on the hands of his watch. Twenty-five past. From far off came the echo of a woman's voice, calling. The words could not be distinguished, but he was convinced that it was the same cry he had heard before, and that it came from the same spot, somewhere in the neighborhood of the cottage. Strangely enough, that fact reassured him. It might, after all, be a hoax [trick]. Unlikely as it seemed, the girl herself might be playing a trick on him. He set his shoulders resolutely [with determination], and took out a club from his golf bag. He would play the few holes up to the cottage. The girl was in the garden as usual. She looked up this morning, and when he raised his cap to her, said good morning rather shyly... She looked, he thought, lovelier than ever. "Nice day, isn't it?" Jack called out cheerily, cursing the unavoidable banality [dullness] of the observation. "Yes, indeed, it is lovely." "Good for the garden, I expect?" The girl smiled a little, disclosing a fascinating dimple. "Alas, no! For my flowers the rain is needed. See, they are all dried up." Jack accepted the invitation of her gesture, and came up to the low hedge dividing the garden from the course, looking over it into the garden. "They seem all right," he remarked awkwardly, conscious as he spoke of the girl's slightly pitying glance running over him. "The sun is good, is it not?" she said. "For the flowers one can always water them. But the sun gives strength and repairs the health. Monsieur is much better today, I can see." Her encouraging tone annoyed Jack intensely. "Curse it all," he said to himself. "I believe she's trying to cure me by suggestion. "I'm perfectly well," he said irritably. "That is good then," returned the girl, quickly and soothingly. Jack had the irritating feeling that she didn't believe him. He played a few more holes and hurried back to breakfast. As he ate it, he was conscious, not for the first time, of the close scrutiny of a man who sat at the table next to him. He was a man of middle-age, with a powerful, forceful face. He had a small dark beard and very piercing grey eyes, and an ease and assurance of manner which placed him among the higher ranks of the professional classes. His name, Jack knew, was Lavington, and he had heard vague rumors as to his being a well-known medical specialist, but as Jack was not a frequenter of Harley Street, the name had conveyed little or nothing to him. 56

57 But this morning he was very conscious of the quiet observation under which he was being kept, and it frightened him a little. Was his secret written plainly in his face for all to see? Did this man, by reason of his professional calling, know that there was something amiss in the hidden grey matter? Jack shivered at the thought. Was it true? Was he really going mad? Was the whole thing a hallucination, or was it a gigantic hoax? And suddenly a very simple way of testing the solution occurred to him. He had hitherto been alone on his round. Supposing someone else was with him? Then one out of three things might happen. The voice might be silent. They might both hear it. Or - he only might hear it. That evening he proceeded to carry his plan into effect. Lavington was the man he wanted with him. They fell into conversation easily enough - the older man might have been waiting for such an opening. It was clear that for some reason or other Jack interested him. The latter was able to come quite easily and naturally to the suggestion that they might play a few holes together before breakfast. The arrangement was made for the following morning. They started out a little before seven. It was a perfect day, still and cloudless, but not too warm. The doctor was playing well, Jack wretchedly. His whole mind was intent on the forthcoming crisis. He kept glancing surreptitiously [secretly] at his watch. They reached the seventh tee, between which and the hole the cottage was situated, about twenty past seven. The girl, as usual, was in the garden as they passed. She did not look up as they passed. The two balls lay on the green, Jack's near the hole, the doctor's some little distance away. "I've got this for it," said Lavington. "I must go for it, I suppose." He bent down, judging the line he should take. Jack stood rigid, his eyes glued on his watch. It was exactly twenty-five minutes past seven. The ball ran swiftly along the grass, stopped on the edge of the hole, hesitated, and dropped in. "Good putt," said Jack. His voice sounded hoarse and unlike himself... He shoved his wristwatch farther up his arm with a sigh of overwhelming relief. Nothing had happened. The spell was broken. "If you don't mind waiting a minute," he said, "I think I'll have a pipe." They paused a while on the eighth tee. Jack filled and lit the pipe with fingers that trembled a little in spite of himself. An enormous weight seemed to have lifted from his mind. "Lord, what a good day it is," he remarked, staring at the prospect ahead of him with great contentment. "Go on, Lavington, your swipe." And then it came. Just at the very instant the doctor was hitting. A woman's voice, high and agonized. "Murder - Help! Murder!" The pipe fell from Jack's nerveless hand, as he spun round in the direction of the sound, and then, remembering, gazed breathlessly at his companion. 57

58 Lavington was looking down the course, shading his eyes. "A bit short - just cleared the bunker, though, I think." He had heard nothing. The world seemed to spin round with Jack. He took a step or two, lurching heavily. When he recovered himself, he was lying on the short turf, and Lavington was bending over him. "There, take it easy now, take it easy." "What did I do?" "You fainted, young man - or gave a very good try at it." "My God!" said Jack, and groaned. "What's the trouble? Something on your mind?" "I'll tell you in one minute, but I'd like to ask you something first." The doctor lit his own pipe and settled himself on the bank. "Ask anything you like," he said comfortably. "You've been watching me for the last day or two. Why?" Lavington's eyes twinkled a little. "That's rather an awkward question. A cat can look at a king, you know." "Don't put me off. I'm in earnest [serious]. Why was it? I've a vital reason for asking." Lavington's face grew serious. "I'll answer you quite honestly. I recognized in you all the signs of a man laboring under a sense of acute [sharp] strain, and it intrigued me what that strain could be." "I can tell you that easily enough," said Jack bitterly. "I'm going mad." He stopped dramatically, but his statement not seeming to arouse the interest and consternation [worry] he expected, he repeated it. "I tell you I'm going mad." "Very curious," murmured Lavington. "Very curious indeed." Jack felt indignant [angry]. "I suppose that's all it does seem to you. Doctors are so damned callous [insensitive]." 58

59 "Come, come, my young friend, you're talking at random. To begin with, although I have taken my degree, I do not practice medicine. Strictly speaking, I am not a doctor - not a doctor of the body, that is." Jack looked at him keenly. "Of the mind?" "Yes, in a sense, but more truly I call myself a doctor of the soul." "Oh!" "I perceive the disparagement [disrespect] in your tone, and yet we must use some word to denote the active principle which can be separated and exist independently of its fleshy home, the body. You've got to come to terms with the soul, you know, young man; it isn't just a religious term invented by clergymen. But we'll call it the mind, or the subconscious self, or any term that suits you better. You took offense at my tone just now, but I can assure you that it really did strike me as very curious that such a well-balanced and perfectly normal young man as yourself should suffer from the delusion that he was going out of his mind." "I'm out of my mind all right. Absolutely balmy." "You will forgive me for saying so, but I don't believe it." "I suffer from delusions." "After dinner?" "No, in the morning." "Can't be done," said the doctor, relighting his pipe which had gone out. "I tell you I hear things that no one else hears." "One man in a thousand can see the moons of Jupiter. Because the other nine hundred and ninety-nine can't see them there's no reason to doubt that the moons of Jupiter exist, and certainly no reason for calling the thousandth man a lunatic." "The moons of Jupiter are a proved scientific fact." "It's quite possible that the delusions of today may be the proved scientific facts of tomorrow." In spite of himself, Lavington's matter-of-fact manner was having its effect upon Jack. He felt immeasurably soothed and cheered. The doctor looked at him attentively for a minute or two and then nodded. "That's better," he said. "The trouble with you young fellows is that you're so cocksure nothing can exist outside your own philosophy that you get the wind up when something occurs to jolt you out of that opinion. Let's hear your grounds for believing that you're going mad, and we'll decide whether or not to lock you up afterwards." As faithfully as he could, Jack narrated the whole series of occurrences. 59

60 "But what I can't understand," he ended, "is why this morning it should come at half-past seven - five minutes late." Lavington thought for a minute or two. Then - "What's the time now by your watch?" he asked. "Quarter to eight," replied Jack, consulting it. "That's simple enough, then. Mine says twenty to eight. Your watch is five minutes fast. That's a very interesting and important point - to me. In fact, it's invaluable." "In what way?" Jack was beginning to get interested. "Well, the obvious explanation is that on the first morning you did hear some such cry - may have been a joke, may not. On the following mornings, you suggestioned yourself to hear it exactly the same time." "I'm sure I didn't." "Not consciously, of course, but the subconscious plays us some funny tricks, you know. But, anyway, that explanation won't wash. If it were a case of suggestion, you would have heard the cry at twenty-five minutes past seven by your watch, and you could never have heard it when the time, as you thought, was past." "Well, then?" "Well - it's obvious, isn't it? This cry for help occupies a perfectly definite place and time in space. The place is the vicinity of that cottage and the time is twenty-five minutes past seven." "Yes, but why should I be the one to hear it? I don't believe in ghosts and all that spook stuff - spirits rapping and all the rest of it. Why should I hear the damned thing?" "Ah! That we can't tell at present. It's a curious thing that many of the best mediums are made out of confirmed skeptics. It isn't the people who are interested in occult phenomena [the supernatural] who get the manifestations. Some people see and hear things that other people don't - we don't know why, and nine times out of ten they don't want to see or hear them, and are convinced that they are suffering from delusions - just as you were. It's like electricity. Some substances are good conductors, and for a long time we didn't know why, and had to be content just to accept the fact. Nowadays we do know why. Some day, no doubt, we shall know why you hear this thing and I and the girl don't. Everything's governed by natural law, you know - there's no such thing really as the supernatural. Finding out the laws that govern so-called psychic phenomena is going to be a tough job - but every little helps." "But what am I going to do?" asked Jack. Lavington chuckled. "Practical, I see. Well, my young friend, you are going to have a good breakfast and get off to the city without worrying your head further about things you don't understand. I, on the other hand, am going to poke about, and see what I can find out about that cottage back there. That's where the mystery centers, I dare swear." 60

61 Jack rose to his feet. "Right, sir. I'm on, but, I say - " "Yes?" Jack flushed awkwardly. "I'm sure the girl's all right," he muttered. Lavington looked amused. "You didn't tell me she was a pretty girl! Well, cheer up, I think the mystery started before her time." Jack arrived home that evening in a perfect fever of curiosity. He was by now pinning his faith blindly to Lavington. The doctor had accepted the matter so naturally, had been so matter-of-fact and unperturbed [unbothered] by it, that Jack was impressed. He found his new friend waiting for him in the hall when he came down for dinner, and the doctor suggested that they should dine together at the same table. "Any news, sir?" asked Jack anxiously. "I've collected the life history of Heather Cottage all right. It was tenanted first by an old gardener and his wife. The old man died, and the old woman went to her daughter. Then a builder got hold of it, and modernized it with great success, selling it to a city gentleman who used it for weekends. About a year ago, he sold it to some people called Turner - Mr and Mrs Turner. They seem to have been rather a curious couple from all I can make out. He was an Englishman, his wife was popularly supposed to be partly Russian, and was a very handsome, exotic-looking woman. They lived very quietly, seeing no one, and hardly ever going outside the cottage garden. The local rumor goes that they were afraid of something - but I don't think we ought to rely on that. "And then suddenly one day they departed, cleared out one morning early, and never came back. The agents here got a letter from Mr Turner, written from London, instructing him to sell the place as quickly as possible. The furniture was sold off, and the house itself was sold to a Mr Mauleverer. He only actually lived in it a fortnight - then he advertised it to be let furnished. The people who have it now are a consumptive French professor and his daughter. They have been there just ten days." Jack digested this in silence. "I don't see that that gets us any forwarder," he said at last. "Do you?" "I rather want to know more about the Turners," said Lavington quietly. "They left very early in the morning, you remember. As far as I can make out, nobody actually saw them go. Mr Turner has been seen since - but I can't find anybody who has seen Mrs Turner." Jack paled. "It can't be - you don't mean - " 61

62 "Don't excite yourself, young man. The influence of anyone at the point of death - and especially of violent death - upon their surroundings is very strong. Those surroundings might conceivably absorb that influence, transmitting it in turn to a suitably tuned receiver - in this case yourself." "But why me?" murmured Jack rebelliously. "Why not someone who could do some good?" "You are regarding the force as intelligent and purposeful, instead of blind and mechanical. I do not believe myself in earth-bound spirits, haunting a spot for one particular purpose. But the thing I have seen, again and again, until I can hardly believe it to be pure coincidence, is a kind of blind groping towards justice - a subterranean moving of blind forces, always working obscurely towards that end... " He shook himself, as though casting off some obsession that preoccupied him, and turned to Jack with a ready smile. "Let us banish the subject - for tonight at all events," he suggested. Jack agreed readily enough, but did not find it so easy to banish the subject from his own mind. During the weekend, he made vigorous inquiries of his own, but succeeded in eliciting little more than the doctor had done. He had definitely given up playing golf before breakfast. The next link in the chain came from an unexpected quarter. On getting back one day, Jack was informed that a young lady was waiting to see him. To his intense surprise it proved to be the girl of the garden - the pansy girl, as he always called her in his own mind. She was very nervous and confused. "You will forgive me, Monsieur, for coming to seek you like this? But there is something I want to tell you - I - " She looked around uncertainly. "Come in here," said Jack promptly, leading the way into the now deserted "Ladies' Drawing-room" of the hotel, a dreary apartment, with a good deal of red plush about it. "Now, sit down, Miss, Miss - " "Marchaud, Monsieur. Felise Marchaud." "Sit down, Mademoiselle Marchaud, and tell me all about it." Felise sat down obediently. She was dressed in dark green today, and the beauty and charm of the proud little face was more evident than ever. Jack's heart beat faster as he sat down beside her. "It is like this," explained Felise. "We have been here but a short time, and from the beginning we hear the house - our so sweet little house - is haunted. No servant will stay in it. That does not matter so much - me, I can do the ménage and cook easily enough." "Angel," thought the infatuated young man. "She's wonderful." But he maintained an outward semblance of business-like attention. This talk of ghosts, I think it is all folly - that is until four days ago. Monsieur, four nights running, I have had the same dream. A lady stands there - she is beautiful, tall and very fair. In her hands she holds a blue china jar. She is distressed - very distressed, and continually she holds out the jar to me, as though imploring me to do 62

63 something with it. But alas! She cannot speak, and I - I do not know what she asks. That was the dream for the first two nights - but the night before last, there was more of it. She and the blue jar faded away, and suddenly I heard her voice crying out - I know it is her voice, you comprehend - and, oh! Monsieur, the words she says are those you spoke to me that morning. 'Murder - help! Murder!' I awoke in terror. I say to myself - it is a nightmare; the words you heard are an accident. But last night the dream came again. Monsieur, what is it? You too have heard. What shall we do?" Felise's face was terrified. Her small hands clasped themselves together, and she gazed appealingly at Jack. The latter affected an unconcern he did not feel. "That's all right, Mademoiselle Marchaud. You mustn't worry. I tell you what I'd like you to do, if you don't mind. Repeat the whole story to a friend of mine who is staying here, a Dr Lavington." Felise signified her willingness to adopt this course, and Jack went off in search of Lavington. He returned with him a few minutes later. Lavington gave the girl a keen scrutiny [looking over] as he acknowledged Jack's hurried introductions. With a few reassuring words, he soon put the girl at her ease, and he, in his turn, listened attentively to her story. "Very curious," he said, when she had finished. "You have told your father this?" Felise shook her head. "I have not liked to worry him. He is very ill still - " her eyes filled with tears - "I keep from him anything that might excite or agitate him." "I understand," said Lavington kindly. "And I am glad you came to us, Mademoiselle Marchaud. Hartington here, as you know, had an experience something similar to yours. I think I may say that we are well on the track now. There is nothing else that you can think of?" Felise gave a quick movement. "Of course! How stupid I am. It is the point of the whole story. Look, Monsieur, at what I found at the back of one of the cupboards where it had slipped behind the shelf." She held out to them a dirty piece of drawing-paper on which was executed roughly in water colors a sketch of a woman. It was a mere daub, but the likeness was probably good enough. It represented a tall fair woman, with something subtly un-english in her face. She was standing by a table on which was standing a blue china jar. "I only found it this morning," explained Felise. "Monsieur le doctor, that is the face of the woman I saw in my dream, and that is the identical blue jar." "Extraordinary," commented Lavington. "The key to the mystery is evidently the blue jar. It looks like a Chinese jar to me, probably an old one. It seems to have a curious raised pattern over it." "It is Chinese," declared Jack. "I have seen an exactly similar one in my uncle's collection - he is a great collector of Chinese porcelain, you know, and I remember noticing a jar just like this a short time ago." "The Chinese jar," mused Lavington. He remained a minute or two lost in thought, then raised his head suddenly, a curious light shining in his eyes. "Hartington, how long has your uncle had that jar?" 63

64 "How long? I really don't know." "Think. Did he buy it lately?" "I don't know - yes, I believe he did, now I come to think of it. I'm not very interested in porcelain myself, but I remember his showing me his 'recent acquisitions,' and this was one of them." "Less than two months ago? The Turners left Heather Cottage just two months ago." "Yes, I believe it was." "Your uncle attends country sales sometimes?" "He's always tooling round to sales." "Then there is no inherent [natural] improbability in our assuming that he bought this particular piece of porcelain at the sale of the Turners' things. A curious coincidence - or perhaps what I call the groping of blind justice. Hartington, you must find out from your uncle at once where he bought this jar." Jack's face fell. "I'm afraid that's impossible. Uncle George is away on the Continent. I don't even know where to write to him." "How long will he be away?" "Three weeks to a month at least." There was a silence. Felise sat looking anxiously from one man to the other. "Is there nothing that we can do?" she asked timidly. "Yes, there is one thing," said Lavington, in a tone of suppressed excitement. "It is unusual, perhaps, but I believe that it will succeed. Hartington, you must get hold of that jar. Bring it down here and, if Mademoiselle permits, we will spend a night in Heather Cottage, taking the blue jar with us." Jack felt his skin creep uncomfortably. "What do you think will happen?" he asked uneasily. "I have not the slightest idea - but I honestly believe that the mystery will be solved and the ghost laid. Quite possibly there may be a false bottom to the jar and something is concealed inside it. If no phenomenon occurs, we must use our own ingenuity [cleverness]." Felise clasped her hands. "It is a wonderful idea," she exclaimed. Her eyes were alight with enthusiasm. Jack did not feel nearly so enthusiastic - in fact, he was inwardly funking it badly, but nothing would have induced him to admit the fact before Felise. The doctor acted as though his suggestion were the most natural one in the world. 64

65 "When can you get the jar?" asked Felise, turning to Jack. "Tomorrow," said the latter, unwillingly. He had to go through with it now, but the memory of that frenzied cry for help that had haunted him each morning was something to be ruthlessly thrust down and not thought about more than could be helped. He went to his uncle's house the following evening, and took away the jar in question. He was more than ever convinced when he saw it again that it was the identical one pictured in the water color sketch, but carefully as he looked it over he could see no sign that it contained a secret receptacle of any kind. It was eleven o'clock when he and Lavington arrived at Heather Cottage. Felise was on the lookout for them, and opened the door softly before they had time to knock. "Come in," she whispered. "My father is asleep upstairs, and we must not wake him. I have made coffee for you in here." She led the way into a small cozy sitting-room. A spirit lamp stood in the grate, and bending over it, she brewed them both some fragrant coffee. Then Jack unfastened the Chinese jar from its many wrappings. Felise gasped as her eyes fell on it. "But yes, but yes," she cried eagerly. "That is it - I would know it anywhere." Meanwhile Lavington was making his own preparations. He removed all the ornaments from a small table and set it in the middle of the room. Round it he placed three chairs. Then, taking the blue jar from Jack, he placed it in the centre of the table. "Now," he said, "we are ready. Turn off the lights, and let us sit round the table in the darkness." The others obeyed him. Lavington's voice spoke again out of the darkness. "Think of nothing - or of everything. Do not force the mind. It is possible that one of us has mediumistic powers. If so, that person will go into a trance. Remember, there is nothing to fear. Cast out fear from your hearts, and drift - drift - " His voice died away and there was silence. Minute by minute, the silence seemed to grow more pregnant with possibilities. It was all very well for Lavington to say, "Cast out fear." It was not fear that Jack felt - it was panic. And he was almost certain that Felise felt the same way. Suddenly he heard her voice, low and terrified. "Something terrible is going to happen. I feel it." "Cast out fear," said Lavington. "Do not fight against the influence." The darkness seemed to get darker and the silence more acute. And nearer and nearer came that indefinable sense of menace. Jack felt himself choking - stifling - the evil thing was very near... And then the moment of conflict passed. He was drifting - drifting downstream - his lids closed - peace - darkness... 65

66 Jack stirred slightly. His head was heavy - heavy as lead. Where was he? Sunshine... Birds... He lay staring up at the sky. Then it all came back to him. The sitting. The little room. Felise and the doctor. What had happened? He sat up, his head throbbing unpleasantly, and looked round him. He was lying in a little copse [thicket of small trees] not far from the cottage. No one else was near him. He took out his watch. To his amazement it registered half-past twelve. Jack struggled to his feet, and ran as fast as he could in the direction of the cottage. They must have been alarmed by his failure to come out of the trance, and carried him out into the open air. Arrived at the cottage, he knocked loudly on the door. But there was no answer, and no signs of life about it. They must have gone off to get help. Or else - Jack felt an indefinable fear invade him. What had happened last night? He made his way back to the hotel as quickly as possible. He was about to make some inquiries at the office, when he was diverted by a colossal punch in the ribs which nearly knocked him off his feet. Turning in some indignation [anger], he beheld a white-haired old gentleman wheezing with mirth [amusement]. "Didn't expect me, my boy. Didn't expect me, hey?" said this individual. "Why, Uncle George, I thought you were miles away - in Italy somewhere." "Ah! But I wasn't. Landed at Dover last night. Thought I'd motor up to town and stop here to see you on the way. And what did I find. Out all night, hey? Nice goings on - " "Uncle George," Jack checked him firmly. "I've got the most extraordinary story to tell you. I dare say you won't believe it." He narrated the whole story. "And God knows what's become of them," he ended. His uncle seemed on the verge of apoplexy [a stroke]. "The jar," he managed to shout at last. "THE BLUE JAR! What's become of that?" Jack stared at him in non-comprehension, but submerged in the torrent of words that followed he began to understand. It came with a rush: "Ming - unique - gem of my collection - worth ten thousand pounds at least - offer from Hoggenheimer, the American millionaire - only one of its kind in the world. - Confound it, sir, what have you done with my BLUE JAR?" Jack rushed to the office. He must find Lavington. The young lady in the office eyed him coldly. "Dr Lavington left late last night - by motor. He left a note for you." 66

67 Jack tore it open. It was short and to the point: My Dear Young Friend: Is the day of the supernatural over? Not quite - especially when tricked out in new scientific language. Kindest regards from Felise, invalid father, and myself. We have twelve hours start, which ought to be ample [enough]. Yours ever, Ambrose Lavington, Doctor of the Soul 67

68 The Plymouth Express by Agatha Christie Part One Alec Simpson, RN, [Royal Navy] stepped from the platform at Newton Abbot into a first-class compartment of the Plymouth Express. A porter [a person who carries luggage] followed him with a heavy suitcase. He was about to swing it up to the rack, but the young sailor stopped him. SIMPSON: No-- leave it on the seat. I ll put it up later. Here you are. PORTER: Thank you, sir. The porter, generously tipped, withdrew. Doors banged; a stentorian [loud] voice shouted: Plymouth only. Change for Torquay. Plymouth next stop. Then a whistle blew, and the train drew slowly out of the station. Lieutenant Simpson had the carriage to himself. The December air was chilly, and he pulled up the window. Then he sniffed vaguely, and frowned. What a smell there was! Reminded him of that time in the hospital, and the operation on his leg. Yes, chloroform [anesthetic]; that was it! I. He let the window down again, changing his seat to one with its back to the engine. He pulled a pipe out of his pocket and lit it. For a little time he sat inactive, looking into the night and smoking. At last he roused himself, and opening the suitcase, took out some papers and magazines, then closed the suitcase again and endeavored to shove it under the opposite seat-- without success. Some obstacle resisted it. He shoved harder with rising impatience, but it still stuck out half-way into the carriage. SIMPSON: Why the devil won t it go in? he muttered, and hauling it out completely, he stooped down and peered under the seat... A moment later a cry rang out into the night, and the great train came to an unwilling halt in obedience to the imperative jerking of the communication cord. POIROT: Mon ami [My friend], said Poirot, you have, I know, been deeply interested in this mystery of the Plymouth Express. Read this. II. 68

69 I picked up the note he flicked across the table to me. It was brief and to the point. Dear Sir, I shall be obliged if you will call upon me at your earliest convenience. Yours faithfully, Ebenezer Halliday The connection was not clear to my mind, and I looked inquiringly at Poirot. For answer he took up the newspaper and read aloud: POIROT: A sensational discovery was made last night. A young naval officer returning to Plymouth found under the seat of his compartment the body of a woman, stabbed through the heart. The officer at once pulled the communication cord, and the train was brought to a standstill. The woman, who was about thirty years of age, and richly dressed, has not yet been identified. And later we have this: The woman found dead in the Plymouth Express has been identified as the Honorable Mrs. Rupert Carrington. You see now, my friend? Or if you do not I will add this-- Mrs. Rupert Carrington was, before, her marriage, Flossie Halliday, daughter of old man Halliday, the steel king of America. HASTINGS: And he has sent for you? Splendid! POIROT: I did him a little service in the past-- an affair of bearer bonds. And once, when I was in Paris for a royal visit, I had Mademoiselle Flossie pointed out to me. La jolie petite pensionnaire [The pretty little schoolgirl]! She had the jolie dot [a pretty dowry] too! It caused trouble. She nearly made a bad affair. HASTINGS: How was that? POIROT: A certain Count de la Rochefour. Un bien mauvais sujet [A very bad guy]! A bad hat, as you would say. An adventurer pure and simple, who knew how to appeal to a romantic young girl. Luckily her father got wind of it in time. He took her back to America in haste. I heard of her marriage some years later, but I know nothing of her husband. HASTINGS: Hmm, I said. The Honorable Rupert Carrington is no beauty, by all accounts. He d pretty well run through his own money on the turf, and I should imagine old man Halliday s dollars came along in the nick of time. I should say that for a good-looking, well-mannered, utterly unscrupulous young scoundrel, it would be hard to find his mate! POIROT: Ah, the poor little lady. Elle n est pas bien tombee! [It did not turn out well!] 69

70 HASTINGS: I fancy he made it pretty obvious at once that it was her money, and not she, that had attracted him. I believe they drifted apart almost at once. I have heard rumors lately that there was to be a definite legal separation. POIROT: Old man Halliday is no fool. He would tie up her money pretty tight. HASTINGS: I dare say. Anyway, I know as a fact that the Honorable Rupert is said to be extremely hard up [in need of money]. POIROT: Aha! I wonder-- HASTINGS: You wonder what? POIROT: My good friend, do not jump down my throat like that. You are interested, I see. Suppose you accompany me to see Mr. Halliday. There is a taxi-stand at the corner. A few minutes sufficed to whirl us to the superb house in Park Lane rented by the American magnate [a powerful person]. We were shown into the library, and almost immediately we were joined by a large stout man, with piercing eyes and an aggressive chin. III. MR. HALLIDAY: M. Poirot? said Mr. Halliday. I guess I don t need to tell you what I want you for. You ve read the papers, and I m never one to let the grass grow under my feet. I happened to hear you were in London, and I remembered the good work you did over those bombs. Never forget a name. I ve the pick of Scotland Yard, but I ll have my own man as well. Money no object. All the dollars were made for my little girl-- and now she s gone. I ll spend my last cent to catch the damned scoundrel that did it! See? So it s up to you to deliver the goods. Poirot bowed. POIROT: I accept, monsieur, all the more willingly [because] I saw your daughter in Paris several times. And now I will ask you to tell me the circumstances of her journey to Plymouth and any other details that seem to you to bear upon the case. HALLIDAY: Well, to begin with, responded Halliday, she wasn t going to Plymouth. She was going to join a house-party at Avonmead Court, the Duchess of Swansea s place. She left London by the twelve-fourteen from Paddington, arriving at Bristol (where she had to change [trains]) at two-fifty. The principal Plymouth expresses, of course, run via Westbury, and do not go near Bristol at all. The twelve-fourteen does a non-stop run to Bristol, afterwards stopping at Weston, Taunton, Exeter and Newton Abbot. My daughter travelled alone in her carriage, which was reserved as far as Bristol, her maid being in a third class carriage in the next coach. 70

71 Poirot nodded, and Mr. Halliday went on: HALLIDAY: The party at Avonmead Court was to be a very gay one, with several balls, and in consequence my daughter had with her nearly all her jewels-- amounting in value, perhaps, to about a hundred thousand dollars. POIROT: Un moment [one moment], interrupted Poirot. Who had [possession] of the jewels? Your daughter or the maid? HALLIDAY: My daughter always took charge of them herself, carrying them in a small blue morocco case. POIROT: Continue Monsieur. HALLIDAY: At Bristol the maid, Jane Mason, collected her mistress dressing-bag, and wraps, which were with her, and came to the door of Flossie s compartment. To her surprise, my daughter told her that she was not getting out at Bristol, but was going on further. She directed Mason to get out the luggage and put it in the cloak room [in the train station]. She could have tea in the refreshment-room, but she was to wait at the station for her mistress, who would return to Bristol by an up-train in the course of the afternoon. The maid, although very much astonished, did as she was told. She put the luggage in the cloak-room and had some tea. But up-train after up-train came in, and her mistress did not appear. After the arrival of the last train, she left the luggage where it was, and went to a hotel near the station for the night. This morning she read of the tragedy, and returned to [London] by the first available train. POIROT: Is there nothing to account for your daughter s sudden change of plan? HALLIDAY: Well, there is this: According to Jane Mason, at Bristol, Flossie was no longer alone in her carriage. There was a man in it who stood looking out of the farther window so that she could not see his face. POIROT: The train was a corridor one, of course? HALLIDAY: Yes. POIROT: Which side was the corridor? HALLIDAY: On the platform side. My daughter was standing in the corridor as she talked to Mason. POIROT: And there is no doubt in your mind excuse me! He got up, and carefully straightened the inkstand which was a little askew. Je vous demande pardon [I beg your pardon], he continued, 71

72 reseating himself. It affects my nerves to see anything crooked. Strange, is it not? I was saying, monsieur, that there is no doubt in your mind, as to this probably unexpected meeting being the cause of your daughter s sudden change of plan? HALLIDAY: It seems the only reasonable supposition [assumption]. POIROT: You have no idea as to who the gentleman in question might be? all. The millionaire hesitated for a moment, and then replied: HALLIDAY: No I do not know at POIROT: Now as to the discovery of the body? HALLIDAY: It was discovered by a young naval officer who at once gave the alarm. There was a doctor on the train. He examined the body. She had first been chloroformed, and then stabbed. He gave it as his opinion that she had been dead about four hours, so it must have been done not long after leaving Bristol probably between there and Weston, possibly between Weston and Taunton. POIROT: And the jewel-case? HALLIDAY: The jewel-case, M. Poirot, was missing. POIROT: One thing more, monsieur. Your daughter s fortune to whom does it pass at her death? HALLIDAY: Flossie made a will soon after her marriage, leaving everything to her husband. He hesitated for a minute and then went on: I may as well tell you, Monsieur Poirot, that I regard my son-in-law as an unprincipled scoundrel, and that, by my advice, my daughter was on the eve of freeing herself from him by legal means no difficult matter. I settled her money upon her in such a way that he could not touch it during her lifetime, but although they have lived entirely apart for some years, she had frequently acceded [agreed to] his demands for money, rather than face an open scandal. However, I was determined to put an end to this. At last Flossie agreed, and my lawyers were instructed to take proceedings. POIROT: And where is Monsieur Carrington? HALLIDAY: In [London] I believe he was away in the country yesterday, but he returned last night. Poirot considered a little while. Then he said: POIROT: I think that is all, monsieur. HALLIDAY: You would like to see the maid, Jane Mason? POIROT: If you please. 72

73 IV. Halliday rang the bell, and gave a short order to the foot-man. A few minutes later Jane Mason entered the room, a respectable, hard-featured woman, as emotionless in the face of tragedy as only a good servant can be. POIROT: You will permit me to put a few questions? Your mistress, she was quite as usual before starting yesterday morning? Not excited or flurried? MASON: Oh, no sir! POIROT: But at Bristol she was quite different? MASON: Yes, sir, regular upset so nervous she didn t seem to know what she was saying. POIROT: What did she say exactly? MASON: Well, sir, as near as I can remember, she said Mason, I ve got to alter my plans, Something has happened I mean, I m not getting out here after all. I must go on. Get out the luggage and put it in the cloak-room; then have some team and wait for me in the station. Wait for you here, ma am? I asked. Yes, yes. Don t leave the station. I shall return by a later train. I don t know when. It mayn t be until quite late. Very well, ma am, I says. It wasn t my place to ask questions, but I thought it strange. POIROT: It was unlike your mistress, eh? MASON: very unlike her, sir. POIROT: What did you think? MASON: Well, sir, I thought it was to do with the gentleman in the carriage. She didn t speak to him, but she turned round once or twice as though to ask him if she was doing right. POIROT: But you didn t see the gentleman s face? MASON: No, sir; he stood with his back to me all the time. POIROT: Can you describe him at all? MASON: He had on a light fawn over coat, and a traveling-cap. He was tall and slender, like, and the back of his head was dark. 73

74 POIROT: You didn t know him? MASON: Oh, no, I don t think so, sir. POIROT: It was not your master, Mr. Carrington, by any chance? Mason looked rather startled. MASON: Oh! I don t think so, sir! POIROT: But you are not sure? MASON: It was about the master s build, sir but I never thought of it being him. We so seldom saw him.i couldn t say it wasn t him! Poirot picked up a pin from the carpet, and frowned at it severely; then he continued: POIROT: Would it have been possible for the man to have entered the train at Bristol before you reached the carriage? Mason considered. MASON: Yes, sir, I think it would. My compartment was very crowded, and it was some minutes before I could get out and then there was a very large crowd on the platform, and that delayed me too. But he d only have had a minute or two to speak to the mistress, that way. I took it for granted that he d come along the corridor. POIROT: That is more probably, certainly. He paused, still frowning. MASON: You know how the mistress was dressed, sir? POIROT: The papers gave a few details, but I would like you to confirm them. MASON: She was wearing a white fox fur toque [hat], sir, with a white spotted veil, and a blue frieze coat and skirt the shade of blue they call electric. POIROT: H m, rather striking. HALLIDAY: Yes, Inspector Japp is in hopes that that may help us to fix the spot where the crime took place. Anyone who saw her would remember her. POIROT: Precisement [precisely]! Thank you, mademoiselle. The maid left the room. Well! Poirot got up briskly. That is all I can do here except, monsieur, that I would ask you to tell me everything but everything! HALLIDAY: I have done so. POIROT: You are sure? 74

75 HALLIDAY: Absolutely. POIROT: Then there is nothing more to be said. I must decline [turn down] the case. HALLIDAY: Why? POIROT: Because you have not been frank [honest] with me. HALLIDAY: I assure you POIROT: No, you are keeping something back. There was a moment s pause, and then Halliday drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to my friend. HALLIDAY: I guess this is what you are after, Monsieur Poirot though how you know about it fairly gets my goat! Poirot smiled, and unfolded the paper. It was a letter written in thin, sloping handwriting. Poirot read it aloud: POIROT: Chere Madame: it is with infinite pleasure that I look forward to the felicity [good fortune] of meeting you again. After your so amiable [friendly] reply to my letter, I can hardly restrain my impatience. I have never forgotten those days in Paris. It is most cruel that you should be leaving London tomorrow. However, before very long, and perhaps sooner than you think, I shall have the joy of beholding once more the lady whose image has ever reigned supreme in my heart. Believe, chere madame, all the assurances of my most devoted and unaltered sentiments [unchanged feelings] Armand de la Rochefour. 75

76 The Plymouth Express by Agatha Christie Part Two Poirot handed the letter back to Halliday with a bow. POIROT: I fancy, monsieur, that you did not know that your daughter intended renewing her acquaintance with the Count de la Rochefour? HALLIDAY: It came as a thunderbolt to me! I found this letter in my daughter s handbag. As you probably know, M. Poirot, this so-called count is an adventurer of the worst type. Poirot nodded. HALLIDAY: But I want to know how you knew of the existence of this letter? My friend smiled. POIROT: Monsieur, I did not. But to track foot-marks and recognize cigarette ash is not sufficient for a detective. He must also be a good psychologist! I knew that you disliked and mistrusted your son-in-law. He benefits by your daughter s death; the maid s description of the mysterious man bears a sufficient resemblance to him. Yet, you are not keen on his track! Why? Surely because your suspicions lie in another direction. Therefore, you were keeping something back. HALLIDAY: You re right, M. Poirot. I was sure of Rupert s guilt until I found this letter. It unsettled me horribly. POIROT: Yes. The Count says: Before very long, and perhaps sooner than you think. Obviously he would not want to wait until you should get wind of his reappearance. Was it he who traveled down from London by the twelve-fourteen [train], and came along the corridor to your daughter s compartment? The Count de la Rochefour is also, if I remember rightly, tall and dark! The millionaire nodded. POIROT: Well, monsieur, I will wish you a good day. Scotland Yard [the police] has, I presume, a list of the jewels? HALLIDAY: Yes, I believe Inspector Japp is here now if you would like to see him? Japp was an old friend of ours, and greeted Poirot with a sort of affectionate contempt [disrespect]. V. 76

77 JAPP: And how are you, monsieur? No bad feelings between us, though we have got our different ways of looking at things. How are the little grey cells, eh? Going strong? Poirot beamed upon him. POIROT: They function, my good Japp; assuredly they do! JAPP: Then that s all right. Think it was the Honorable Rupert, or a crook? We re keeping an eye on all the regular places, of course. We shall know if the shiners [jewels] are disposed of [sold], and of course whoever did it isn t going to keep them to admire their sparkle. Not likely! I m trying to find out where Rupert Carrington was yesterday. Seems a bit of a mystery about it. I ve got a man watching him. POIROT: A great precaution, but perhaps a day late, suggested Poirot gently. JAPP: You always will have your joke, M. Poirot. Well, I m off to Paddington [the train station]. Bristol, Weston, Taunton, that s my beat. So long. POIROT: You will come around and see me this evening, and tell me the result? JAPP: Sure thing, if I m back. POIROT: That good Inspector believes in matter in motion, murmured Poirot as our friend departed. He travels; he measures footprints; he collects mud and cigarette ash! He is extremely busy! He is zealous [excited] beyond words! And if I mentioned psychology to him, do you know what he would do, my friend? He would smile! He would say to himself: Poor old Poirot! He ages! He grows senile [forgetful]! Japp is the younger generation knocking on the door. And ma foi! [My goodness!]. They are so busy knocking that they do not notice that the door is open! HASTINGS: And what are you going to do? POIROT: As we have carte blanche [complete freedom to act as we see fit], I shall expend threepence in ringing [calling] up the Ritz where you may have noticed our Count is staying. After that, as my feet are a little damp, and I have sneezed twice, I shall return to my rooms and make myself a tisane [herbal tea] over the spirit lamp! VI. I did not see Poirot again until the following morning. I found him placidly [calmly] finishing his breakfast. HASTINGS: Well? I inquired eagerly. What has happened? POIROT: Nothing. 77

78 HASTINGS: But Japp? POIROT: I have not seen him. HASTINGS: The count? POIROT: He left the Ritz the day before yesterday. HASTINGS: The day of the murder? POIROT: Yes. HASTINGS: Then that settles it! Rupert Carrington is cleared [innocent]. POIROT: Because the Count de la Rochefour has left the Ritz? You go too fast, my friend. HASTINGS: Anyway, he [the count] must be followed, arrested! But what could be his motive? POIROT: One hundred thousand dollars worth of jewelry is a very good motive for anyone. No, the question to my mind is: why kill her? Why not simply steal the jewels? She would not prosecute [press charges]. HASTINGS: Why not? POIROT: Because she is a woman, mon ami [my friend]. She once loved this man. Therefore she would suffer her loss in silence. And the Count, who is an extremely good psychologist where women are concerned hence his success would know that perfectly well! On the other hand, if Rupert Carrington killed her, why take the jewels, which would incriminate him fatally? HASTINGS: As a blind [a distraction]. POIROT: Perhaps you are right, my friend. Ah, here is Japp! I recognize his knock. The inspector was beaming good-humoredly. JAPP: Morning, Poirot. Only just got back. I ve done some good work! And you? POIROT: Me, I have arranged my ideas, Poirot replied placidly. Japp laughed heartily. JAPP: Old chap s getting on in years, he observed beneath his breath to me. That won t do for us young folk, he said aloud. 78

79 POIROT: Quel dommage [what a pity]? Poirot inquired. JAPP: Well do you want to hear what I ve done? POIROT: You permit me to make a guess? You have found the knife with which the crime was committed, by the side of the [railroad] between Weston and Taunton, and you have interviewed the paper boy who spoke to Mrs. Carrington at Weston! Japp s jaw fell. JAPP: How on earth did you know? Don t tell me it was those almighty little grey cells of yours! POIROT: I am glad you admit for once that they are all mighty! Tell me, did she give the paper boy a shilling for himself? JAPP: No, it was a half a crown! Pretty extravagant, these rich Americans! POIROT: And in consequence the boy did not forget her? JAPP: Not he. Half-crowns don t come his way every day. She hailed him and bought two magazines. One had a picture of a girl in blue on the cover. That ll match me, she said. Oh! He remembered her perfectly. Well, that was enough for me. By the doctor s evidence, the crime must have been committed before Taunton. I guessed they d throw the knife away at once, and I walked down the [railroad tracks] looking for it; and sure enough, there is was. I made inquiries at Taunton about our man, but of course it s a big station, and it wasn t likely they d notice him. He probably got back to London by a later train. Poirot nodded. POIROT: Very likely. JAPP: But I found another bit of news when I got back. They re passing [selling] the jewels, all right! That large emerald was pawned last night by one of the regular lot [thieves]. Who do you think it was? POIROT: I don t know except that it was a short man. Japp stared. JAPP: Well, you re right there. He s short enough. It was Red Narky. HASTINGS: Who is Red Narky? JAPP: A particularly sharp jewel thief, sir. And not one to stick at murder. Usually works with a woman Gracie Kidd; but she doesn t seem to be in it this time unless she s got off to Holland with the rest of the swag [jewels]. HASTINGS: You ve arrested Narky? 79

80 JAPP: Sure thing. But mind you, it s the other man we want the man who went down with Mrs. Carrington in the train. He was the one who planned the job, right enough. But Narky wouldn t squeal on a pal! I noticed that Poirot s eyes had become very green. POIROT: I think, he said gently, that I can find Narky s pal for you, all right. JAPP: One of your little ideas, eh? Japp eyed Poirot sharply. Wonderful how you manage to deliver the goods sometimes, at your age and all, Devil s own luck, of course. POIROT: Perhaps, perhaps, murmured my friend. Hastings, my hat. And the brush. So! My galoshes [rain boots], if it still rains! We must not undo the good work of the tisane [herbal tea]. Au revoir [goodbye], Japp! JAPP: Good luck to you, Poirot. Poirot hailed the first taxi we met, and directed the driver to Park Lane. VII. When we drew up before Halliday s house, he skipped out nimbly [quickly], paid the driver and rang the bell. To the footman who opened the door he made a request in a low voice, and we were immediately taken upstairs. We went up to the top of the house, and were shown into a small neat bedroom. Poirot s eyes roved round the room and fastened themselves on a small black trunk. He knelt in front of it, scrutinized the labels on it, and took a small twist of wire from his pocket. POIROT: Ask Mr. Halliday if he will be so kind as to [meet] me here, he said over his shoulder to the footman. The man departed, and Poirot gently coaxed the lock of the trunk with a practiced hand. In a few minutes the lock gave, and he raised the lid of the trunk. Swiftly he began rummaging among the clothes it contained, flinging them out on the floor. There was a heavy step on the stairs, and Halliday entered the room. HALLIDAY: What in hell are you doing here? he demanded, staring. POIROT: I was looking, monsieur, for this. Poirot withdrew from the trunk a coat and skirt of bright blue frieze [woolen fabric], and a small toque [brimless hat] of fox fur. HALLIDAY: What are you doing with my trunk? I turned to see that the maid, Jane Mason, had entered the room. 80

81 POIROT: If you will just shut the door, Hastings. Thank you. Yes, and stand with your back against it. Now, Mr. Halliday, let me introduce you to Gracie Kidd, otherwise Jane Mason, who will shortly rejoin her accomplice, Red Narky, under the kind escort of Inspector Japp. Poirot waved a deprecating hand. VIII. POIROT: It was of the most simple! He helped himself to more caviar. It was the maid s insistence on the clothes that her mistress was wearing that first struck me. Why was she so anxious that our attention should be directed to them? I reflected that we had only the maid s word for the mysterious man in the carriage at Bristol. As far as the doctor s evidence went, Mrs. Carrington might easily have been murdered before reaching Bristol. But if so, then the maid must be an accomplice. And if she were an accomplice, she would not wish this point to rest on her evidence alone. The clothes Mrs. Carrington was wearing were of a striking nature. A maid usually has a good deal of choice as to what her mistress shall wear. Now if, after Bristol, anyone saw a lady in a bright blue coat and skirt, and a fur toque, he will be quite ready to swear he has seen Mrs. Carrington. I began to reconstruct. The maid would provide herself with duplicate clothes. She and her accomplice chloroform and stab Mrs. Carrington between London and Bristol, probably taking advantage of a tunnel. Her body is rolled under the seat; and the maid takes her place. At Weston she must make herself noticed. How? In all probability, a newspaper-boy will be selected. She will insure his remembering her by giving him a large tip. She also drew his attention to the color of her dress by a remark about one of the magazines. After leaving Weston, she throws the knife out of the window to mark the place where the crime presumably occurred, and changes her clothes, or buttons a long mackintosh [raincoat] over them. A Taunton she leaves the train and returns to Bristol as soon as possible, where her accomplice has duly left the luggage in the cloak-room. He hands over the ticket and himself returns to London. She waits on the platform, carrying out her role, goes to a hotel for the night and returns to town in the morning, exactly as she had said. When Japp returned from his expedition, he confirmed all my deductions. He also told me that a well-known crook was passing the jewels. I knew that whoever it was would be the exact opposite of the man Jane Mason described. When I heard it was Red Narky, who always worked with Gracie Kidd well, I knew just where to find her. HALLIDAY: And the Count? POIROT: The more I thought of it, the more I was convinced that he had nothing to do with it. That gentleman is much too careful of his own skin to risk murder. It would be out of keeping with his character. 81

82 HALLIDAY: Well, Monsieur Poirot, said Halliday, I owe you a big debt. And the check I write after lunch won t go near to settling it. Poirot smiled modestly [humbly], and murmured to me: POIROT: The Good Japp, he shall get the official credit, all right, but though he has got his Gracie Kidd, I think that I, as the Americans say, have got his goat! 82

83 Mullholland Dive by Michael Connelly Burning flares and flashing red and blue lights ripped the night apart. Clewiston counted four black-and-whites pulled halfway off the roadway and as close to the upper embankment as possible. In front of them was a fire truck and in front of that was a forensics van. There was a P-one [patrol officer] standing in the middle of Mulholland Drive ready to hold up traffic or wave it into the one lane that they had open. With a fatality involved, they should have closed down both lanes of the road, but that would have meant closing Mulholland from Laurel Canyon on one side all the way to Coldwater Canyon on the other. That was too long a stretch. There would be consequences for that. The huge inconvenience of it would have brought complaints from the rich hillside homeowners trying to get home after another night of the good life. And nobody stuck on midnight shift wanted more complaints to deal with. Clewiston had worked Mulholland fatals [deaths] several times. He was the expert. He was the one they called in from home. He knew that whether the identity of the victim in this case demanded it or not, he d have gotten the call. It was Mulholland, and the Mulholland calls all went to him. But this one was special anyway. The victim was a name [someone famous] and the case was going five-by-five[carefully and clearly]. That meant everything about it had to be squared away and done right. He had been thoroughly briefed over the phone by the watch commander about that. He pulled in behind the last patrol car, put his flashers on, and got out of his unmarked car. On the way back to the trunk he grabbed his badge from beneath his shirt and hung it out front. He was in civies [not in his uniform], having been called in from off-duty, and it was prudent [wise] to make sure he announced he was a detective. He used his key to open the trunk and began to gather the equipment he would need. The P-one left his post in the road and walked over. CLEWISTON: Where s the sergeant? P-ONE: Up there. I think they re about to pull the car up. That s a hundred thousand dollars he went over the side with. Who are you? me. CLEWISTON: Detective Clewiston. The reconstructionist. Sergeant Fairbanks is expecting 83