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\ STEDY IN SCARLET.
Ey A. CONAN COYLE.
PAET ONE
a reprint from the reminiscences
of John 11. Watson, 'I. I)., late of the
army medical deportment ]
I was still annoyed at his bumptious
style of conversation. I thought it Lest
to change the topic.
“I wonder what that fellow is looking
for?” I asked, pointing to a stalwart,
plainly dressed individual who was
walking slowly down the other side of
the str<«t, looking anxiously at the num
bers. He. had a large blue envelope in
his hand and was evidently the bearer
of a message.
‘‘You mean the retired sergeant of
marines,” said Sherlock Holmes.
“Brag and bounce!” thought I to my
self. ‘‘Ho knows that I cannot verify his
guess. ”
The thought had hardly passed
through my mind when the man whom
we were watching caught sight of the
number on our door and rail rapidly
across the roadway. We beard a loud
knock, a deep voice below and heavy
steps ascending the stairs.
“For Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he said,
stepping into the room and handing my
friend the letter.
Here was an opportunity of taking
the conceit out of him. He little thought
of this when he made that random shot. :
“May I ask, my lad,” I said blandly,
‘‘what your trade may be?”
“Commissionnaire,sir, ” he said gruff
ly. “Uniform away for repairs. ”
“And you were?” I asked, with a
slightly malicious glance at my compan
ion.
“A sergeant, sir, Royal Marine Light
infantry, sir. No answer? Hight, sir.”
Ho clicked his heels together, raised
his hand in a salute and was gone.
CHAPTER 111.
I confess that I was considerably
startled by this fresh proof of the prac
tical nature of my companion’s theories.
My r< spect for his powers of analysis in
creased wendrously. There still remain
ed some lurking suspicion in my mind,
however, that tho whole thing was a
prearranged episode, intended to dazzle
me, though what earthly object he could
have in taking me in was past my com
prehension. When I looked at him, he
had finished reading tho note, and his
eyes had assumed the vacant, lackluster
expression which showed mental ab
straction.
“How in the world did you deduce
that?” I asked.
“Deduce what?” said he petulantly.
“Why, that he was a retired sergeant
of marines. ”
“1 have no time for trifles,” he re
plied brusquely; then, with a smile:
“Excuse my rudeness. You broke the
thread of my thoughts, but perhaps it is
as well. So you actually were not able
to see that that man was a sergeant of
marines?”
“No, indeed.”
“It was easier to know it than to ex
plain why 1 know it. If you were asked
to prove that two and two make four,
you might find some difficulty, and yet
you are quite sure of the fact. Even
across the street I could see a great blue
anchor tattooed on the back of the fel
low's hand. That smacked of the sea.
Ho had a military carriage, how
ever, and regulation side whiskers.
There we have the marine. He was a
man with some amount of self impor
tance and a certain air of command.
You must have observed tho way in
which he held his head and swung his
cane, a steady, respectable, middle aged
man, too, on the face of him, all facts
which led me to believe that he had been
a sergeant. ”
“Wonderful!” I ejaculated.
‘‘Commonplace, ’ ’ said Holmes, though
I thought from his expression that he
was pleased at my evident surprise and
admiration. “I said just now that there
were no criminals. It appears that I am
wrong. Look at this!” He threw me
over the note which the commissionnaire
had brought.
“Why,” I cried as I cast my eye over
it, “this is terrible!”
“It does seem to be a little out of the
common, ’ ’ he remarked calm ly. “ Would
you mind reading it to me aloud?”
This is the letter which I read to him:
My Dear Mb. Sherlock Holmbs—There has
been a bad business during the night at 3 Lau
riston Gardens, off the Brixton road. Our man
on the beat saw a light there about 2 in the
morning, and as the house was an empty one
suspected something amiss. He found the door
open and in the front room, which is bare of
furniture, discovered the body of a gentleman,
well dressed and having cards in his pocket
bearing the name of “Enoch J. Drebber, Cleve
land, Ohio, U. S. A. ’’ There had been no rob
bery, nor is there any evidence as to how the
man met his death. There are marks of blood
in the room, but there is no wound upon his
person. We are at a loss as to how he came into
the empty house. Indeed the whole affair is a
puzzler. If you can come round to the house
any time before 12, you will find me there. I
have left everything in statu quo until I hear
from you. If you are unable to come, I shall
give you fuller details and would esteem it a
great kindness if you would favor me with
your opinion. Yours faithfully,
Tobias Gregson.
“Gregson is the smartest of the Scot
land Yarders,” ray friend remarked.
“He and Lestrade are the pick of a bad
lot. They are both quick and energetic,
but conventional, shockingly so. They
have their knives into one another too.
They are as jealous as a pair of profes
sional beauties. There will be some fun
over this case if they are both put upon
the scent ”
I was amazed at the calm way in
which he rippled on. “Surely there is
not a moment to be lost,” I cried.
“Shall I go and order you a cab?”
“I am not sure about whether I shall
go. lam the most incurably lazy devil
that ever stood in shoe leather—that is,
when the fit is on me, for I can be spry
enough at times.”
“Why, it is just such a chance as you
have been longing for. ”
“My dear fellow, what does it mat
ter to me? Supposing I unravel the
whole matter, you njav be wra
Gregson, Lestrade & Co. will pocke t all
the credit. That comes of being an un
official personage.”
“But he begs you to help him. ”
“Yes. He knows that lam his supe
rior and acknowledges it to me, but he
would cut his tongue out before he would
own it to any third person. However,
we may as well go and have a look. 1
shall work it out on my own hook. 1
may have a laugh at them, if I have
nothing elso. Come on!”
He hustled on his overcoat and bus
tled about in away that showed that an
energetic fit had superseded the apathet
ic one.
“Get your bat,” he said.
“You wish me to come?”
“Yes, if you have nothing better to
do.” A rainute later we were both in a
hansom, driving furiously for the Brix
ton road.
It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and
a dun colored veil hung over the house
tops, looking like the reflection of the
mud colored streets beneath. My com
panion was in the best of spirits and
prattled away about Cremona fiddles
and the difference between a Stradiva
rius and an Amati. As for myself, I
was silent, for tho dull weather and the
melancholy business upon which we
were engaged depressed my spirits.
“Y’ou don’t seem to give much thought
to the matter in hand,” I said at last,
interrupting Holmes’ musical disquisi
tion.
“No data yet, ”ho answered. “It is a
capital mistake to theorize before you
have all the evidence. It biases the judg
ment. ”
“You v,’ill have your data soon,” I re
marked, pointing with my finger. ‘ ‘This
is tho Brixton road, and that is the
house, if I am not very much mistaken. ”
“So it is. Stop, driver, stop!” We
were still a hundred yards or so from it,
but he insisted upon our alighting, and
wo finished our journey upon foot.
No. 3 Lauriston Gardens wore an ill
omened and minatory look. It was ono
of four which stood back some little
way from the street, two being occupied
and two empty. The latter looked cut
with three tiers of vacant, melancholy
windows, which were blank and dreary,
save that here and there a “To let”
card had developed like a cataract upon
the bleared panes. A small garden,
sprinkled over with a scattered eruption
of sickly plants, separated each of these
houses from the street and was traversed
by a narrow pathway, yellowish in col
or and consisting apparently of a mix
ture of clay and gravel.
The whole place was very sloppy from
the rain which had fallen through the
night The garden was bounded by a
three foot brick wall, with a fringe of
wood rails upon the top, and against
this wall was leaning a stalwart police
constable, surrounded by a small knot
of loafers, who craned their nocks and
strained their eyes in the vain hope of
catching some glimpse of tho proceed
ings within.
I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes
would at once have hurried into the
house and plunged into a study of the
mystery. Nothing appeared to be x rther
from his intention. With an a.r of
nonchalance, which, under the circum
stances, seemed to me to border upon
affectation, he lounged up and down
the pavement and gazed vacantly at the
ground, the sky, the opposite houses and
the line of railings. Having finished
his scrutiny, ho proceeded slowly down
the path, or rather down the fringe of
grass which flanked the path, keeping
his eyes riveted upon the ground. Twice
he stopped, and once I saw him smile
and heard him utter an exclamation of
satisfaction. There were many marks
of footsteps upon the wet, clayey soil,
but since the police had been coming
and going over it I was unable to see how
my companion could hope to learn any
thing from it. Still I had had such ex
traordinary evidence of the quickness of
his perceptive faculties that I had no
doubt that he could see a great deal
which was hidden from me.
At the door of the bouse tvo were met
by a tall, white faced, flaxen haired
man, with a notebook in his hand, who
rushed forward and wrung my compan
ion’s hand with effusion. “It is in
deed kind of you to come,” he said. “I
have had everything left untouched.”
“Except that!” my friend answered,
pointing to the pathway. “If a herd
of buffaloes had passed along, there could
not be a greater mess. No doubt, how
ever, you had drawn your own conclu
sions, Gregson, before you permitted
this. ”
“I have had so much to do inside
the house,” the detective said evasive
ly. “My colleague, Mr. Lestrade, is
here. I had relied upon him to look
after this.”
Holmes glanced at me and raised his
eyebrows sardonically.
“With two such men as yourself and
Lestrade upon the ground there will not
be much for a third party to find out,”
he said.
Gregson rubbed his hands in a self
satisfied way. “I think we have done
all that can be done,” he answered.
“It’s a queer case, though, and 1 knew
your taste for such things.”
“You did not come here in a cab?”
asked Sherlock Holmes.
“No, sir. ”
“Nor Lestrade?”
“No, sir,.”
“Then let us go and look at the
room.” With which inconsequent re
mark he strode on into the house, fol
lowed by Gregson, whose features e<-
pressed his astonishment.
A short passage, bare planked and
dusty, led to the kitchen and offices.
Two doors opened out of it to the left
and to the right. One of these had ob
viously been closed for many weeks.
The other belonged to the dining room,
which was the apartment in which the
mysterious affair had occurred. Holmes
walked in, and I followed him with
that subdued feeling at my heart which
the presence of death inspires.
It was a large, square room, looking
all the larger for the absence of all fur
niture. A vulgar, flaring paper adorned
the walls, but it was blotched in places
with mildew, and here and there great
strips had become detached and hung
down, exposing the yellow plaster be
neath. Opposite the door was a showy
fireplace, surmounted by a mantelpiece
of imitation white marble. On one
corner of this was stuck the stump of a
red wax candle. The solitary window
was so dirty that the light was hazy
and uncertain, giving a dull gray tinge
to everything, which was intensified by
the thick layer of dust which coated
the whole apartment.
All these details I observed afterward.
At present my attention was centered
upon the single grim, motionless figure
which lay stretched upon the boards,
with vacant, sightless eyes staring up
at the discolored ceiling. It was that
of a man about 43 or 44 years of age,
middle sized, broad shouldered, with
crisp, curling black hair and a short,
stubbly beard. He was dressed in a
heavy broadcloth frock coat and waist
coat, with light colored trousers and
immaculate collar and cuffs. A top hat,
well brushed and trim, was placed upon
the floor beside him. His hands were
clinched and his arms thrown abroad,
while his lower limbs were interlocked
as though his death struggle had been a
grievous one. On his rigid face there
stood an expression of horror and, as it
seemed to me, of hatred such as I have
never seen upon human features. This
malignant and terrible contortion, com
bined with the low forehead, blunt nose
and prognathous jaw, gave the dead
man a singularly simious and apelike
appearance, which was increased by his
writhing, unnatural posture. I have
seen death in many forms, but never
has it appeared to me in a more fear
some aspect than in that dark, grimy
apartment, which looked out upon one
of the main arteries of suburban Lon
don.
Lestrade, lean and ferretlike as ever,
was standing by tho doorway and greet
ed my companion and myself.
“This case will make a stir, sir,” he
remarked. “It beats anything I have
seen, and I am no chicken.”
“There is no clew?” said Gregson.
“None at all,” chimed in Lestrade.
Sherlock Holmes approached tho body,
and kneeling down examined it intent
ly. “You are sure that there is no.
wound?’ ’ he asked, pointing to numerous
gouts and splashes of blood which lay
all around.
“Positive!” cried both detectives.
“Then of course this blood belongs to
a second individual, presumably the
murderer, if murder has been commit
ted. It reminds me of tho circumstances
attendant on the death of Van Jansen
in Utrecht in the year ’34. Do you re
member tho case, Gregson?”
“No, sir. ”
“Read it up, you really should. There
is nothing new under tho sun. It has
all been done before.”
As ho spoke his nimble fingers were
flying here, there and everywhere, feel
ing, pressing, unbuttoning, examining,
while his eyes wore the same faraway
expression which I have already remark
ed upon. So swiftly was the examina
tion made that one would hardly have
guessed the minuteness with which it
was conducted. Finally he sniffed the
dead man’s lips and then glanced at the
soles of his patent leather boots.
“He has net been moved at all?” he
asked.
“No more than was necessary for the
purpose of our examination.”
“You can take him to tho mortuary
now, ”he said. “There is nothing more
to be learned. ”
Gregson had a stretcher and four men
at hand. At his call they entered the
room, and the stranger was lifted and
carried out. As they raised him, a ring
tinkled down and rolled across the floor.
Lestrade grabbed it and stared at it
with mystified eyes.
“There’s been a woman here!” he
cried. “It’s a woman’s wedding ring.”
He held it out as ho spoko upon the
palm of his hand. We all gathered
around him and gazed at it. There
could be no doubt that that circle of
plain gold had once adorned tho finger
of a bride.
‘‘This complicates ■'matters, ” said
Gregson. “Heaven knows they were
complicated enough before!”
“Y’ou’re sure it doesn’t simplify
them?” observed Holmes. “There’s
nothing to be learned by staring at it.
What did you find in his pockets?”
“We have it all here, ” said Gregson,
pointing to a litter of objects upon one
of the bottom steps of the stairs. “A
gold watch, No. 97,163, by Barraud of
London; gold Albert chain, very heavy
and solid; gold ring, with Masonic de
vice; gold pin, bulldog’s head, with
rubies as eyes; Russian leather cardcase,
with cards of Enoch J. Drebber of
Cleveland, corresponding with the E. J.
D. upon the linen; no purse, but loose
money to the extent of £7 135.; pocket
edition of Boccaccio’s ‘Decameron,’
with name of Joseph Stangerson upon
tke fly leaf; two letters, one addi'iessed to
E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph Stan
gerson. ’ ’
“At what address?”
“American Exchange, Strand, to be
left till called for. They are both from
tho Guion Steamship company and re
fer to tho sailing of their boats from
Liverpool. It is clear that this unfortu
nate man was about to return to New
York. ”
“Have you made any inquiries as to
this man Stangerson?”
“I did it at once, sir,” said Gregson.
; “I have had advertisements sent to all
the newspapers, and one cf my men has
1 gone to the American Exchange, but he
has not returned yet. ”
“Have you sent to Cleveland?”
“We telegraphed this morning.”
“How did you word your inquiries?”
“We simply detailed the circum
stances and said that we should be glad
of any information which could he’p us. ’
j “Y'ou did not ask for particulars on
any point which appeared to you to. be
: crucial?”
“I asked about Stangerson.”
“Nothing else? Is there no cireum
’ stance on which this whole case ap
! pears to hinge’ Will you not telegraph
again?”
‘‘l have aaid all I havo to say,” said
Gregson in an offended voice.
Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself
and appeared to be about to make some
remark, when Lestrade, who had been
in the front room while we were bold
ing this conversation in the hall, reap
peared upon the scene, rubbing his
hands in a pompous and self satisfied
manner.
“Mr. Gregson,” he said, “lhave just
made a discovery of the highest impor
tance and one which would have been
overlooked had I not made a careful
examination of the walls.”
The little man’s eyes sparkled as he
spoke, and he was evidently in a state
of suppressed exultation at having scored
a point against his colleague.
“Come here,” he said, bustling back
into the room, the atmosphere of which
felt cleaner since the removal of its
ghastly inmate. “Now stand there.”
He struck a match on his boot and
held it up against the wall.
“Look at that, ” he said triumphantly.
I have remarked that the paper had
fallen away in parts. In this particu
lar corner of the room a large piece h id
peeled off, leaving a yellow square of
coarse plastering. Across this bare
space there was scrawled in blood red
letters a single word, “Rache.”
“What do you think of that?” cried
the detective with the air of a showman
exhibiting his show. “This was over
looked because it was in the darkest
corner of the room, and no one thought
of looking there. The murderer has
written it with his or her own blood.
See this smear where it has trickled
down the wall! That disposes of the
idea of suicide anyhow. Why was that
corner chosen to write it on? I will tell
you. See that candle on the mantel
piece. It was lit at the time, and if it
was lit this corner would be the bright
est instead of the darkest portion of the
wall. ’ ’
“And what does it mean, njw that
you have found it?” asked Gregson in a
deprecatory voice.
“Mean? Why, it means that the writer
was going to put the female iqunc Ra
chel, but was disturbed before he or she
had time to finish. You mark my words,
when this case comes to be cleared up
you will find that a woman named Ra
chel has something to do with it It’s
all very well for you to laugh, Mr. Sher
lock Holmes. You may be very smart
and clever, but the old hound is the best
when all is said and done.”
“I really beg your pardon,” said my
companion, who had ruffled the little
man’s temper by bursting into an explo
sion of laughter. “You certainly have
the credit of being the first of us to find
this out, and, as you say, it bears every
mark of having been written by the
other participant in last night’s mys
tery. I have not had time to examine
this room yet, but with your permission
I shall do so now. ”
As ho spoke he whipped a tape meas
ure and a large, round magnifying glass
from his pocket. With those imple
ments he trotted noiselessly about the
room, sometimes stopping, occasion
ally kneeling and once lying flat upon
his face. So engrossed was ho with his
occupation that he appeared to have
forgotten our presence, for he chattered
away to himself under his breath the
whole time, keeping up a running fire
of exclamations, groans, whistles and
little cries suggestive of encouragement
and of hope. As I watched him I was
irresistibly reminded of a pure blooded,
well trained foxhound as it dashes back
ward and forward through the covert,
whining in its eagerness, until it comes
across the lost scent. For 20 minutes or
more he continued his researches, meas
uring with the most exact care the dis
tance between marks which were en
tirely invisible to me and occasionally
applying his tape to the walls in an
equally incomprehensible manner. In
one place he gathered very carefully a
little pile of gray dust from the floor
and packed it away in an envelope.
Finally he examined with his glass the
word upon the wall, going over every
letter of it with the most minute ex
actness. This done, he appeared to be
satisfied, for he replaced his tape and
his glass in his pocket.
“They say that genius is an infinite
capacity for taking pains,” he remark
ed, with a smile. “It’s a very bad defi
nition, but it does apply to detective
work. ”
Gregson and Lestrade had watched
the maneuvers of their amateur com
panion with considerable curiosity and
some contempt. They evidently failed
to appreciate the fact, which I had be
gun to realize, that Sherlock Holmes’
smallest actions were all directed to
ward some definite and practical end.
“What do you think of it, sir?” they
both asked.
“It would be robbing you of the credit
of the case if I was to presume to help
you, ” remarked my friend. “You are
doing so well now that it would be a
pity for any one to interfere.” There
was a world of sarcasm in his voice as
he spoke. “If you will let me know
how your investigations go, ” he con
tinued, “I shall be happy to give you
any help I can. In the meantime I
should like to speak to the constable
who found the body. Can you give me
his name and address?”
Lestrade glanced at his notebook.
“John Rance, ”he said. “He is off
duty now. You will find him at 4G
Audley court, Kennington Park Gate. ”
Holmes took a note of the address.
“Come along, doctor,” he said. “We
shall go and look him up. I’ll tell you
one thing which may help you in the
case, ”_he continued, turning to the two
detectives. “There has been murder
done, and the murderer was a man. He
was more than 6 feet high, was in the
prime of life, had small feet for his
height, wore coarse, square toed boots
and smoked a Trichinopdly cigar. He
came here with his victim in ’ a four
wheeled cab, which was drawn by a
herse with three old shoes and one new
one on his off fore leg. In all probabil
ity the murderer had a florid face, and
the finger nails of his right hand were
remarkably long. These are only a few
indications, but they may assist you.”
Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each
other with an incredulous smile.
“If this man was murdered, how’was
it dene?” asked the former.
“Poison, ” said Sherlock Holmes curt
ly and strode off. “One ether thing,
Lestrade,” he added, turning around at
the door. “ ‘Rache’ is the German for
‘revenge,’ so don't lose your time look
ing for Miss Rachel.”
With which Parthian shot he walked
away, leaving the two rivals open
mouthed behind him.
CHAPTER IV.
It was 1 o’clock when we left 3 Lau
riston Gardens. Sherlock Holmes led
me to the nearest telegraph office, whence
he dispatched a long telegram. He then
hailed a cab and ordered the driver to
take us to the address given us by Le
strade.
“There is nothing like first hand evi
dence, ”ho remarked. “As a matter of
fact, my mind is entirely made up on
the case, but still we may as well learn
all that is to bo learned. ”
“You amaze me, Holmes,” said I.
“Surely you are not as sure as you pre
tend to be of all those particulars which
you gave. ’ ’
“There’s no room for a mistake,” he
answered. “The very first thing which
I observed on arriving there was that a
cab had made two ruts with its wheels
close to the curb. Now up to last night
we had no rain for a week, so that those
wheels, which left such a deep impres
sion, must have been there during the
night. There were the marks of the
horse’s hoofs, too, the outline of one of
which was far more clearly cut than
that of the other three, showing that
that was a new shoe. Since the cab was
there after the rain began and was not
there at any time during the morning—
I have Gregson’s word for that—it fol
lows that it must have been there dur
ing the night, and, therefore, that it
brought those two individuals to the
house. ”
“That seems simple enough,” said I;
“but how about the other man’s height?”
“Why, the height of a man in nine
cases out of ten can be told from the
length of his stride. It is a simple caL
culation enough, though there is no use
my boring you with figures. I had this
fellow’s stride both on the clay outside
and on the dust within. Then I had a
way of checking my calculation When
a man writes on a wall, his instinct
leads him to write about the level of his
own eyes. Now that writing was just
over six feet from the ground. It was
child’s play. ”
“And his age?” I asked.
“Well, if a man can stride feet
without the slightest effort, he can’t be
quite in the sere and yellow. That was
the breadth of a puddle on the garden
walk which he had evidently walked
across. Patent leather boots had gone
around, and square toes had hopped
over. There is no mystery about it at
all. lam simply applying to ordinary
life a few of those precepts of observa
tion and deduction which I advocated in
that article. Is there anything else that
puzzles you?”
“The finger nails and the Trichinop
oly, ’ ’ I suggested.
“The writing on the wall was dene
with a man’s forefinger dipped in blood.
My glass allowed me to observe that
the plaster was slightly scratched in
doing it, which would not havo been
the case if the man’s nail had been
trimmed. I gathered up some scattered
ash from the floor. It was dark in color
and flaky, such an ash as is only made
by a Trichinopoly. I have made a study
of cigar ashes—in fact, I have written
a monograph upon the subject. I flat
ter myself that I can distinguish at a
glance the ash of any known brand
either of cigar or of tobacco. It is just
in such details that the skilled detective
differs from the Gregson and Lestrade
type-”
“And the florid face?” I asked.
“Ab, that was a more daring shot,
though I have no doubt that I was right.
You must not ask me that at the pres
ent state of the affair.”
I passed my hand over my brow.
“My head is in a whirl,” I remarked.
“The more one thinks of it the more
mysterious it grows. How came these
two men—if there were two men—into
an empty house? What has become of
the cabman who drove them? How could
one man compel another to take poison?
W T here did tho blood come from? What
was the object of the murderer, since
robbery had no part in it? How came
the woman’s ring there? Above all, why
should the second man write up the
German word ‘Rache’ before decamp
ing? I confess I. cannot see any possible
way of reconciling all these facts.”
My companion smiled approvingly.
“You sum up the difficulties of the
situation succinctly and well,” he said.
“There is much that is still obscure,
though I have quite made up my mind
on the main facts. AstopoorLestrade’s
discovery, it was simply a blind intend
ed to put the police upon a wrong track
by suggesting socialism and secret so
cieties. It was not done by a German.
The ‘a,’ if you noticed, was printed
somewhat after the German fashion.
Now, a real German invariably prints in
tho Latin character, so that wo may
safely say that this was not written by
one, but by a clumsy imitator, who
overdid his pars. It was s ; mply a ruse
to divert inquiry into a wrong channel.
I'm not going to tell you much more of
the case, doctor. You know a conjurer
gets no credit when once he has explain
ed his trick, and if I show you too much
of my method of working you will come
to the conclusion that I am a very or
dinary individual, after all.”
“I shall never do that,” I answered.
“You have brought detection as near
an exact science as it will ever be
brought in this world. ”
My companion flushed up witn pleas
ure at my words and the earnest way in
which I uttered them. I had already
observed that he was sensitive to flattery
on the score of his art as any girl could
be of her beauty.
“I’ll tell you one other thing, ” he
said. ‘ ‘Patent leathers and square toes
came in the same cab, and they walked
down the pathway together as friendly
as possible—arm in arm in all probabil
ity. When they got inside, they walked
up and down the room, or rather patent
leathers stood still while square toes
walked up and down. I could read all
that in the dust, and I could read that,
as he walked, he grew more and more
excited. That is shown by the increased
length of his strides. He was talking
all the while and working himself up,
no doubt, into a fury. Then tho tragedy
occurred. I’ve told you all I know my
self now, for the rest is mere surmise
and conjecture. We havo a good work
ing basis, however, on which to start.
Wo must hurry up, for I want to go to
Halle’s concert to hear Norman Neruda
this afternoon. ”
This conversation had occurred while
our cab had been threading its way
through a long succession of dingy
streets and dreary byways. In tho
dingiest and dreariest of them our driver
suddenly came to a stand. “That’s
Audley court in there,” he said, point
ing to a narrow slit in tho line of dead
colored brick. “You’ll find mo hero
when you come back. ”
Audley court was not an attractive lo
cality. The narrow passage led us into
a quadrangle paved with flags and lined
by sordid dwellings. Wo picked our
way among groups of dirty children
and through lines of discolored linen
until we came to 4G, the door of which
was decorated with a small slip of brass,
on which tho name Rance was engraved.
On inquiry we found that the constable
was in bed, and we were shown into a
little front parlor to await his coming.
He appeared presently, looking a lit
tle irritable at being disturbed in his
slumbers. “I made my report at tho
office, ” he said.
Holmes took a half sovereign from his
pocket and played with it pensively,
“We thought that we should like to
hear it all from your own lips, ’ ’ he said.
“I shall bo most happy to tell you
anything I can,” the constable answer
ed, with his eyes upon tho little golden
disk.
“Just let us hear it all in your way,
as it occurred ”
Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa
and knitted his brows, as though de
termined not to omit anything in his
narrative.
“I’ll tell it ye from the beginnin, ”
he said. “My time is from 10 at night
to Gin the mornin. At 11 there was
a fight at tho White Hart; but, bar that,
all was quiet enough on the beat. At
1 o’clock it began to rain, and I met
Harry Murcher, him who has the Hol
land grove beat, and we stood together
at the corner of Henrietta street a-talkin.
Presently, maybe about 2 or a little aft
er, I thought I would take a look around
and see that all was right down the
Brixton road. It was precious dirty and
lonely. Not a soul did I meet all the
way down, though a cab or two went
past me. I was a-strollin down, thinkin
between ourselves how uncommon handy
a four of hot gin would be, when sud
denly a glint of a light caught my eye
in that Now’ I knew’ that
■ hp”i Lauriston gardens
w., of him that owua
them, who wowTa m tho dray/lseed
to, though the very last tenant .tlfat lived
in one of them died o’ typhoid fever. I
was knocked all in a heap, therefore, at
seein a light in the window, and I sus
pected as somethin was wrong. When
I got to the door”—
“You stopped and then walked back
to the garden gate,” my companion in
terrupted. “What did you do that for?”
Rance gave a violent jump and stared
at Sherlock Holmes, with the utmost
amazement upon his features.
“Why, that’s true, sir,” he said,
“though Low you come to know it heav
en only knows! Ye see,, when I got to
the door, it was so still and so lonesome
that I thought I’d bo none the worse for
some one with me. I ain’t afeard of
anythin on this side o’ the grave, but
I thought that maybe it was him that
died o’ tho typhoid inspectin the drains
what killed him. The thought gave me
a kind o’ turn, and I walked back to
the gate to see if I could seo Marcher’s
lantern, but there wasn’t no sign of him
nor of any one else. ”
“There was no one in the street?”
“Not a livin soil!, sir, nor so much
as a dog. Then I pulled myself together
and went back and pushed the door open.
All was quiet inside, so I went into the
room where the light was a-burnin.
There was a candle flickerin on the
mantelpiece, a red wax one, and by its
light I saw” —
“Yes, I know all that you saw. You
walked around the room several times,
and you knelt down by the body, and
then you walked through and tried the
kitchen door, and then’ ’ —
John Rance sprang to his feet with a
frightened face and suspicion in his
eyes. “Where was you hid to see all
that?” he cried. “It seems to me that
you knows a deal more than you should. ”
Holmes laughed and threw his card
across the table to the constable. “Don’t
get arresting me for the murder, ” he
said. “I am one of the hounds and not
the wolf. Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestrade
will answer for that. Go on, though.
What did you do next?”
Rance resumed his seat, without, how
ever, losing his mystified expression.
“I went back to the gate and sounded
my whistle. That brought Murcher and
two more to the spot. ”
“Was the street empty then?”
“Well, it was, as far as anybody thai
could be of any good goer ”
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
In 1877 occurred tho great riots
and fires in Pittsburg, in which over
$3,000,000 worth of property was
destroyed.
Dampness of the walls or furni
ture of a dwelling is a good indica
tion of rainy weather soon to follow.
Umbrellas were introduced into
America from England in 1772.