福尔摩斯案卷-I THE ADVENTURE OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT
"It can't hurt now," was Mr. Sherlock Holmes's
comment when, for the tenth time in as many
years, I asked his leave to reveal the following
narrative. So it was that at last I obtained
permission to put on record what was, in some ways,
the supreme moment of my friend's career.
Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the Turkish
Bath. It was over a smoke in the pleasant
lassitude of the drying-room that I have found him
less reticent and more human than anywhere else.
On the upper floor of the Northumberland Avenue
establishment there is an isolated corner where two
couches lie side by side, and it was on these that we
lay upon September 3, 1902, the day when my
narrative begins. I had asked him whether anything
was stirring, and for answer he had shot his long,
thin, nervous arm out of the sheets which enveloped
him and had drawn an envelope from the inside
pocket of the coat which hung beside him.
"It may be some fussy, self-important fool, it
may be a matter of life or death," said he, as he
handed me the note. "I know no more than this
message tells me."
It was from the Carlton Club, and dated the
evening before. This is what I read:
"Sir James Damery presents his compliments to
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and will call upon him at 4.30
to-morrow. Sir James begs to say that the matter
upon which he desires to consult Mr. Holmes is very
delicate, and also very important. He trusts,
therefore, that Mr. Holmes will make every effort to grant
this interview, and that he will confirm it over the
telephone to the Carlton Club."
"I need not say that I have confirmed it, Watson,"
said Holmes, as I returned the paper. "Do
you know anything of this man Damery?"
"Only that his name is a household word in
Society."
"Well, I can tell you a little more than that. He
has rather a reputation for arranging delicate
matters which are to be kept out of the papers. You
may remember his negotiations with Sir George
Lewis over the Hammerford Will case. He is a
man of the world with a natural turn for diplomacy.
I am bound, therefore, to hope that it is not a false
scent and that he has some real need for our assistance."
"Our?"
"Well, if you will be so good, Watson."
"I shall be honoured."
"Then you have the hour—four-thirty. Until
then we can put the matter out of our heads."
I was living in my own rooms in Queen Anne
Street at the time, but I was round at Baker Street
before the time named. Sharp to the half-hour,
Colonel Sir James Damery was announced. It is
hardly necessary to describe him, for many will
remember that large, bluff, honest personality, that
broad, clean-shaven face, above all, that pleasant,
mellow voice. Frankness shone from his grey Irish
eyes, and good humour played round his mobile,
smiling lips. His lucent top-hat, his dark frock-coat,
indeed, every detail, from the pearl pin in the
black satin cravat to the lavender spats over the
varnished shoes, spoke of the meticulous care in
dress for which he was famous. The big, masterful
aristocrat dominated the little room.
"Of course, I was prepared to find Dr. Watson,"
he remarked, with a courteous bow. "His collaboration
may be very necessary, for we are dealing on
this occasion, Mr. Holmes, with a man to whom
violence is familiar and who will, literally, stick at
nothing. I should say that there is no more
dangerous man in Europe."
"I have had several opponents to whom that
flattering term has been applied," said Holmes, with a
smile. "Don't you smoke? Then you will excuse
me if I light my pipe. If your man is more dangerous
than the late Professor Moriarty, or than the
living Colonel Sebastian Moran, then he is indeed
worth meeting. May I ask his name?"
"Have you ever heard of Baron Gruner?
"You mean the Austrian murderer?"
Colonel Damery threw up his kid-gloved hands
with a laugh. "There is no getting past you,
Mr. Holmes! Wonderful! So you have already sized
him up as a murderer?"
"It is my business to follow the details of
Continental crime. Who could possibly have read
what happened at Prague and have any doubts as
to the man's guilt! It was a purely technical legal
point and the suspicious death of a witness that
saved him! I am as sure that he killed his wife
when the so-called 'accident' happened in the
Splügen Pass as if I had seen him do it. I knew,
also, that he had come to England, and had a
presentiment that sooner or later he would find me some
work to do. Well, what has Baron Gruner been up
to? I presume it is not this old tragedy which has
come up again?"
"No, it is more serious than that. To revenge
crime is important, but to prevent it is more so. It
is a terrible thing, Mr. Holmes, to see a dreadful
event, an atrocious situation, preparing itself
before your eyes, to clearly understand whither it
will lead and yet to be utterly unable to avert it.
Can a human being be placed in a more trying
position?"
"Perhaps not."
"Then you will sympathize with the client in
whose interests I am acting."
"I did not understand that you were merely an
intermediary. Who is the principal?"
"Mr. Holmes, I must beg you not to press that
question. It is important that I should be able to
assure him that his honoured name has been in no
way dragged into the matter. His motives are, to
the last degree, honourable and chivalrous, but he
prefers to remain unknown. I need not say that
your fees will be assured and that you will be given
a perfectly free hand. Surely the actual name of
your client is immaterial?"
"I am sorry," said Holmes. "I am accustomed
to have mystery at one end of my cases, but to have
it at both ends is too confusing. I fear, Sir James,
that I must decline to act."
Our visitor was greatly disturbed. His large,
sensitive face was darkened with emotion and
disappointment.
"You hardly realize the effect of your own action,
Mr. Holmes," said he. "You place me in a most
serious dilemma, for I am perfectly certain that you
would be proud to take over the case if I could give
you the facts, and yet a promise forbids me from
revealing them all. May I, at least, lay all that I
can before you?"
"By all means, so long as it is understood that I
commit myself to nothing."
"That is understood. In the first place, you have
no doubt heard of General de Merville?"
"De Merville of Khyber fame? Yes, I have
heard of him."
"He has a daughter, Violet de Merville, young,
rich, beautiful, accomplished, a wonder-woman in
every way. It is this daughter, this lovely, innocent
girl, whom we are endeavouring to save from the
clutches of a fiend."
"Baron Gruner has some hold over her, then?"
"The strongest of all holds where a woman is
concerned—the hold of love. The fellow is, as you
may have heard, extraordinarily handsome, with a
most fascinating manner, a gentle voice, and that
air of romance and mystery which means so much to
a woman. He is said to have the whole sex at his
mercy and to have made ample use of the fact.
"But how came such a man to meet a lady of the
standing of Miss Violet de Merville?"
"It was on a Mediterranean yachting voyage.
The company, though select, paid their own passages.
No doubt the promoters hardly realized the Baron's
true character until it was too late. The villain
attached himself to the lady, and with such effect
that he has completely and absolutely won her
heart. To say that she loves him hardly expresses
it. She dotes upon him, she is obsessed by him.
Outside of him there is nothing on earth. She will
not hear one word against him. Everything has
been done to cure her of her madness, but in vain.
To sum up, she proposes to marry him next month.
As she is of age and has a will of iron, it is hard to
know how to prevent her."
"Does she know about the Austrian episode?"
"The cunning devil has told her every unsavoury
public scandal of his past life, but always in such a
way as to make himself out to be an innocent martyr.
She absolutely accepts his version and will listen to
no other."
"Dear me! But surely you have inadvertently
let out the name of your client? It is no doubt
General de Merville."
Our visitor fidgeted in his chair.
"I could deceive you by saying so, Mr. Holmes,
but it would not be true. De Merville is a broken
man. The strong soldier has been utterly demoralized
by this incident. He has lost the nerve which
never failed him on the battlefield and has become
a weak, doddering old man, utterly incapable of
contending with a brilliant, forceful rascal like this
Austrian. My client, however, is an old friend, one
who has known the General intimately for many
years and taken a paternal interest in this young
girl since she wore short frocks. He cannot see this
tragedy consummated without some attempt to
stop it. There is nothing in which Scotland Yard
can act. It was his own suggestion that you should
be called in, but it was, as I have said, on the express
stipulation that he should not be personally involved
in the matter. I have no doubt, Mr. Holmes, with
your great powers you could easily trace my client
back through me, but I must ask you, as a point of
honour, to refrain from doing so, and not to break
in upon his incognito."
Holmes gave a whimsical smile.
"I think I may safely promise that," said he.
"I may add that your problem interests me, and
that I shall be prepared to look into it. How shall
I keep in touch with you?"
"The Carlton Club will find me. But, in case
of emergency, there is a private telephone call,
'XX.31.'"
Holmes noted it down and sat, still smiling, with
the open memorandum-book upon his knee.
"The Baron's present address, please?"
"Vernon Lodge, near Kingston. It is a large
house. He has been fortunate in some rather shady
speculations and is a rich man, which, naturally,
makes him a more dangerous antagonist."
"Is he at home at present?"
"Yes."
"Apart from what you have told me, can you give
me any further information about the man?"
"He has expensive tastes. He is a horse fancier.
For a short time he played polo at Hurlingham, but
then this Prague affair got noised about and he had
to leave. He collects books and pictures. He is a
man with a considerable artistic side to his nature.
He is, I believe, a recognized authority upon Chinese
pottery, and has written a book upon the subject."
"A complex mind," said Holmes. "All great
criminals have that. My old friend Charlie Peace
was a violin virtuoso. Wainwright was no mean
artist. I could quote many more. Well, Sir James,
you will inform your client that I am turning my
mind upon Baron Gruner. I can say no more. I
have some sources of information of my own, and
dare say we may find some means of opening
matter up."
When our visitor had left us, Holmes sat so long
in deep thought that it seemed to me that he had
forgotten my presence. At last, however, he came
briskly back to earth.
"Well, Watson, any views?" he asked.
"I should think you had better see the young
lady herself."
"My dear Watson, if her poor old broken father
cannot move her, how shall I, a stranger, prevail?
And yet there is something in the suggestion if all
else fails. But I think we must begin from a different
angle. I rather fancy that Shinwell Johnson
might be a help."
I have not had occasion to mention Shinwell
Johnson in these memoirs because I have seldom
drawn my cases from the latter phases of my friend's
career. During the first years of the century he
became a valuable assistant. Johnson, I grieve to
say, made his name first as a very dangerous villain
and served two terms at Parkhurst. Finally, he
repented and allied himself to Holmes, acting as his
agent in the huge criminal underworld of London,
and obtaining information which often proved to be
of vital importance. Had Johnson been a "nark"
of the police he would soon have been exposed, but as
he dealt with cases which never came directly into
the courts, his activities were never realized by his
companions. With the glamour of his two
convictions upon him, he had the entrée of every
night-club, doss-house, and gambling-den in the town, and
his quick observation and active brain made him
an ideal agent for gaining information. It was to
him that Sherlock Holmes now proposed to turn.
It was not possible for me to follow the immediate
steps taken by my friend, for I had some pressing
professional business of my own, but I met him by
appointment that evening at Simpson's, where,
sitting at a small table in the front window, and
looking down at the rushing stream of life in the
Strand, he told me something of what had passed.
"Johnson is on the prowl," said he. "He may
pick up some garbage in the darker recesses of the
underworld, for it is down there, amid the black roots
of crime, that we must hunt for this man's secrets."
"But, if the lady will not accept what is already
known, why should any fresh discovery of yours
turn her from her purpose?"
"Who knows, Watson? Woman's heart and
mind are insoluble puzzles to the male. Murder
might be condoned or explained, and yet some
smaller offence might rankle. Baron Gruner
remarked to me——"
"He remarked to you!"
"Oh, to be sure, I had not told you of my plans!
Well, Watson, I love to come to close grips with my
man. I like to meet him eye to eye and read for
myself the stuff that he is made of. When I had
given Johnson his instructions, I took a cab out to
Kingston and found the Baron in a most affable mood."
"Did he recognize you?"
"There was no difficulty about that, for I simply
sent in my card. He is an excellent antagonist,
cool as ice, silky voiced and soothing as one of your
fashionable consultants, and poisonous as a cobra.
He has breed in him, a real aristocrat of crime, with
a superficial suggestion of afternoon tea and all the
cruelty of the grave behind it. Yes, I am glad to
have had my attention called to Baron Adelbert
Gruner."
"You say he was affable?"
"A purring cat who thinks he sees prospective
mice. Some people's affability is more deadly than
the violence of coarser souls. His greeting was
characteristic. 'I rather thought I should see you
sooner or later, Mr. Holmes,' said he. 'You have
been engaged, no doubt, by General de Merville to
endeavour to stop my marriage with his daughter,
Violet. That is so, is it not?'
"I acquiesced.
"'My dear man,' said he, 'you will only ruin
your own well-deserved reputation. It is not a case
in which you can possibly succeed. You will have
barren work, to say nothing of incurring some
danger. Let me very strongly advise you to draw off
at once.'
"'It is curious,' I answered, 'but that was the
very advice which I had intended to give you. I
have a respect for your brains, Baron, and the little
which I have seen of your personality has not
lessened it. Let me put it to you as man to man.
No one wants to rake up your past and make you
unduly uncomfortable. It is over, and you are now
in smooth waters, but if you persist in this marriage
you will raise up a swarm of powerful enemies who
will never leave you alone until they have made
England too hot to hold you. Is the game worth
it? Surely you would be wiser if you left the lady
alone. It would not be pleasant for you if these
facts of your past were brought to her notice.'
"The Baron has little waxed tips of hair under
his nose, like the short antennae of an insect. These
quivered with amusement as he listened, and he
finally broke into a gentle chuckle.
"'Excuse my amusement, Mr. Holmes,' said he,
'but it is really funny to see you trying to play
a hand with no cards in it. I don't think anyone
could do it better, but it is rather pathetic, all
the same. Not a colour card there, Mr. Holmes,
nothing but the smallest of the small.'
"'So you think.'
"'So I know. Let me make the thing clear to
you, for my own hand is so strong that I can afford
to show it. I have been fortunate enough to win the
entire affection of this lady. This was given to me
in spite of the fact that I told her very clearly of all
the unhappy incidents in my past life. I also told
her that certain wicked and designing persons—I
hope you recognize yourself—would come to her and
tell her these things, and I warned her how to treat
them. You have heard of post-hypnotic suggestion,
Mr. Holmes? Well, you will see how it works, for
a man of personality can use hypnotism without any
vulgar passes or tomfoolery. So she is ready for
you and, I have no doubt, would give you an
appointment, for she is quite amenable to her father's
will—save only in the one little matter.'
"Well, Watson, there seemed to be no more to
say, so I took my leave with as much cold dignity as
I could summon, but, as I had my hand on the
door-handle, he stopped me.
"'By the way, Mr. Holmes,' said he, 'did you
know Le Brun, the French agent?'
"'Yes,' said I.
"'Do you know what befell him?'
"'I heard that he was beaten by some Apaches
in the Montmartre district and crippled for life.'
"'Quite true, Mr. Holmes. By a curious coincidence
he had been inquiring into my affairs only a
week before. Don't do it, Mr. Holmes; it's not a
lucky thing to do. Several have found that out.
My last word to you is, go your own way and let me
go mine. Good-bye!'
"So there you are, Watson. You are up to date now."
"The fellow seems dangerous."
"Mighty dangerous. I disregard the blusterer,
but this is the sort of man who says rather less than
he means."
"Must you interfere? Does it really matter if
he marries the girl?"
"Considering that he undoubtedly murdered his
last wife, I should say it mattered very much.
Besides, the client! Well, well, we need not discuss
that. When you have finished your coffee you had
best come home with me, for the blithe Shinwell will
be there with his report."
We found him sure enough, a huge, coarse, red-faced,
scorbutic man, with a pair of vivid black eyes
which were the only external sign of the very
cunning mind within. It seems that he had dived down
into what was peculiarly his kingdom, and beside
him on the settee was a brand which he had brought
up in the shape of a slim, flame-like young woman
with a pale, intense face, youthful, and yet so worn
with sin and sorrow that one read the terrible years
which had left their leprous mark upon her.
"This is Miss Kitty Winter," said Shinwell Johnson,
waving his fat hand as an introduction. "What
she don't know—well, there, she'll speak for herself.
Put my hand right on her, Mr. Holmes, within an
hour of your message."
"I'm easy to find," said the young woman.
"Hell, London, gets me every time. Same address
for Porky Shinwell. We're old mates, Porky, you
and I. But, by Gripes! there is another who ought
to be down in a lower hell than we if there was any
justice in the world! That is the man you are
after, Mr. Holmes."
Holmes smiled. "I gather we have your good
wishes, Miss Winter."
"If I can help to put him where he belongs, I'm
yours to the rattle," said our visitor, with fierce
energy. There was an intensity of hatred in her
white, set face and her blazing eyes such as woman
seldom and man never can attain. "You needn't
go into my past, Mr. Holmes. That's neither here
nor there. But what I am Adelbert Gruner made
me. If I could pull him down!" She clutched
frantically with her hands into the air. "Oh, if I
could only pull him into the pit where he has pushed
so many!"
"You know how the matter stands?"
"Porky Shinwell has been telling me. He's after
some other poor fool and wants to marry her this
time. You want to stop it. Well, you surely know
enough about this devil to prevent any decent girl
in her senses wanting to be in the same parish with
him."
"She is not in her senses. She is madly in love.
She has been told all about him. She cares nothing."
"Told about the murder?"
"Yes."
"My Lord, she must have a nerve!"
"She puts them all down as slanders."
"Couldn't you lay proofs before her silly eyes?"
"Well, can you help us do so?"
"Ain't I a proof myself? If I stood before her
and told her how he used me——"
"Would you do this?"
"Would I? Would I not!"
"Well, it might be worth trying. But he has told
her most of his sins and had pardon from her, and I
understand she will not reopen the question."
"I'll lay he didn't tell her all," said Miss Winter.
"I caught a glimpse of one or two murders besides
the one that made such a fuss. He would speak of
someone in his velvet way and then look at me with a
steady eye and say: 'He died within a month.' It
wasn't hot air, either. But I took little notice—you
see, I loved him myself at that time. Whatever
he did went with me, same as with this poor fool!
There was just one thing that shook me. Yes, by
Gripes! if it had not been for his poisonous, lying
tongue that explains and soothes, I'd have left him
that very night. It's a book he has—a brown
leather book with a lock, and his arms in gold on the
outside. I think he was a bit drunk that night, or
he would not have shown it to me."
"What was it, then?"
"I tell you, Mr. Holmes, this man collects women,
and takes a pride in his collection, as some men
collect moths or butterflies. He had it all in that
book. Snapshot photographs, names, details,
everything about them. It was a beastly book—a book
no man, even if he had come from the gutter, could
have put together. But it was Adelbert Gruner's
book all the same. 'Souls I have ruined.' He could
have put that on the outside if he had been so
minded. However, that's neither here nor there,
for the book would not serve you, and, if it would,
you can't get it."
"Where is it?"
"How can I tell you where it is now? It's more
than a year since I left him. I know where he kept
it then. He's a precise, tidy cat of a man in many
of his ways, so maybe it is still in the pigeon-hole of
the old bureau in the inner study. Do you know his
house?"
"I've been in the study," said Holmes.
"Have you, though? You haven't been slow on
the job if you only started this morning. Maybe
dear Adelbert has met his match this time. The
outer study is the one with the Chinese crockery in
it—big glass cupboard between the windows. Then
behind his desk is the door that leads to the inner
study—a small room where he keeps papers and
things."
"Is he not afraid of burglars?"
"Adelbert is no coward. His worst enemy
couldn't say that of him. He can look after himself.
There's a burglar alarm at night. Besides, what is
there for a burglar—unless they got away with all
this fancy crockery?"
"No good," said Shinwell Johnson, with the
decided voice of the expert. "No fence wants stuff
of that sort that you can neither melt nor sell."
"Quite so," said Holmes. "Well, now, Miss
Winter, if you would call here to-morrow evening
at five, I would consider in the meanwhile whether
your suggestion of seeing this lady personally may
not be arranged. I am exceedingly obliged to you
for your co-operation. I need not say that my
clients will consider liberally——"
"None of that, Mr. Holmes," cried the young
woman. "I am not out for money. Let me see
this man in the mud, and I've got all I worked
for—in the mud with my foot on his cursed face. That's
my price. I'm with you to-morrow or any other
day so long as you are on his track. Porky here can
tell you always where to find me."
I did not see Holmes again until the following
evening, when we dined once more at our Strand
restaurant. He shrugged his shoulders when I
asked him what luck he had had in his interview.
Then he told the story, which I would repeat in this
way. His hard, dry statement needs some little
editing to soften it into the terms of real life.
"There was no difficulty at all about the appointment,"
said Holmes, "for the girl glories in showing
abject filial obedience in all secondary things in an
attempt to atone for her flagrant breach of it in her
engagement. The General 'phoned that all was
ready, and the fiery Miss W. turned up according to
schedule, so that at half-past five a cab deposited us
outside 104 Berkeley Square, where the old soldier
resides—one of those awful grey London castles
which would make a church seem frivolous. A
footman showed us into a great yellow-curtained
drawing-room, and there was the lady awaiting us,
demure, pale, self-contained, as inflexible and remote
as a snow image on a mountain.
"I don't quite know how to make her clear to
you, Watson. Perhaps you may meet her before
we are through, and you can use your own gift of
words. She is beautiful, but with the ethereal
other-world beauty of some fanatic whose thoughts
are set on high. I have seen such faces in the pictures
of the old masters of the Middle Ages. How a
beast-man could have laid his vile paws upon such a being
of the beyond I cannot imagine. You may have
noticed how extremes call to each other, the spiritual
to the animal, the cave-man to the angel. You
never saw a worse case than this.
"She knew what we had come for, of course—that
villain had lost no time in poisoning her mind
against us. Miss Winter's advent rather amazed
her, I think, but she waved us into our respective
chairs like a Reverend Abbess receiving two rather
leprous mendicants. If your head is inclined to
swell, my dear Watson, take a course of Miss Violet
de Merville.
"'Well, sir,' said she, in a voice like the wind
from an iceberg, 'your name is familiar to me.
You have called, as I understand, to malign my
fiancé, Baron Gruner. It is only by my father's
request that I see you at all, and I warn you in
advance that anything you can say could not
possibly have the slightest effect upon my mind.'
"I was sorry for her, Watson. I thought of her
for the moment as I would have thought of a
daughter of my own. I am not often eloquent. I use
my head, not my heart. But I really did plead with
her with all the warmth of words that I could find in
my nature. I pictured to her the awful position of
the woman who only wakes to a man's character
after she is his wife—a woman who has to submit to
be caressed by bloody hands and lecherous lips. I
spared her nothing—the shame, the fear, the agony,
the hopelessness of it all. All my hot words could
not bring one tinge of colour to those ivory cheeks
or one gleam of emotion to those abstracted eyes. I
thought of what the rascal had said about a
post-hypnotic influence. One could really believe that
she was living above the earth in some ecstatic
dream. Yet there was nothing indefinite in her
replies.
"'I have listened to you with patience,
Mr. Holmes,' said she. 'The effect upon my mind is
exactly as predicted. I am aware that Adelbert,
that my fiancé, has had a stormy life in which he has
incurred bitter hatreds and most unjust aspersions.
You are only the last of a series who have brought
their slanders before me. Possibly you mean well,
though I learn that you are a paid agent who would
have been equally willing to act for the Baron as
against him. But in any case I wish you to understand
once for all that I love him and that he loves
me, and that the opinion of all the world is no more
to me than the twitter of those birds outside the
window. If his noble nature has ever for an instant
fallen, it may be that I have been specially sent to
raise it to its true and lofty level. I am not clear,'
here she turned her eyes upon my companion, 'who
this young lady may be.'
"I was about to answer when the girl broke in
like a whirlwind. If ever you saw flame and ice
face to face, it was those two women.
"'I'll tell you who I am,' she cried, springing out
of her chair, her mouth all twisted with passion—'I
am his last mistress. I am one of a hundred that
he has tempted and used and ruined and thrown into
the refuse heap, as he will you also. Your refuse
heap is more likely to be a grave, and maybe that's
the best. I tell you, you foolish woman, if you
marry this man he'll be the death of you. It may
be a broken heart or it may be a broken neck, but
he'll have you one way or the other. It's not out of
love for you I'm speaking. I don't care a tinker's
curse whether you live or die. It's out of hate for
him and to spite him and to get back on him for what
he did to me. But it's all the same, and you needn't
look at me like that, my fine lady, for you may be
lower than I am before you are through with it.'
"'I should prefer not to discuss such matters,'
said Miss de Merville coldly. 'Let me say once for
all that I am aware of three passages in my fiancé's
life in which he became entangled with designing
women, and that I am assured of his hearty
repentance for any evil that he may have done.'
"'Three passages!' screamed my companion.
'You fool! You unutterable fool!'
"'Mr. Holmes, I beg that you will bring this
interview to an end,' said the icy voice. 'I have
obeyed my father's wish in seeing you, but I am not
compelled to listen to the ravings of this person.'
"With an oath Miss Winter darted forward, and
if I had not caught her wrist she would have clutched
this maddening woman by the hair. I dragged her
towards the door, and was lucky to get her back into
the cab without a public scene, for she was beside
herself with rage. In a cold way I felt pretty furious
myself, Watson, for there was something indescribably
annoying in the calm aloofness and supreme
self-complaisance of the woman whom we were trying
to save. So now once again you know exactly how
we stand, and it is clear that I must plan some fresh
opening move, for this gambit won't work. I'll
keep in touch with you, Watson, for it is more than
likely that you will have your part to play, though
it is just possible that the next move may lie with
them rather than with us."
And it did. Their blow fell—or his blow rather,
for never could I believe that the lady was privy to
it. I think I could show you the very paving-stone
upon which I stood when my eyes fell upon the
placard, and a pang of horror passed through my
very soul. It was between the "Grand Hotel"
and Charing Cross Station, where a one-legged
news-vendor displayed his evening papers. The date was
just two days after the last conversation. There,
black upon yellow, was the terrible news-sheet:
I think I stood stunned for some moments. Then
I have a confused recollection of snatching at a
paper, of the remonstrance of the man, whom I had
not paid, and, finally, of standing in the doorway of
a chemist's shop while I turned up the fateful
paragraph. This was how it ran:
"We learn with regret that Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
the well-known private detective, was the victim
this morning of a murderous assault which has left
him in a precarious position. There are no exact
details to hand, but the event seems to have occurred
about twelve o'clock in Regent Street, outside the
Café Royal. The attack was made by two men
armed with sticks, and Mr. Holmes was beaten about
the head and body, receiving injuries which the
doctors describe as most serious. He was carried
to Charing Cross Hospital, and afterwards insisted
upon being taken to his rooms in Baker Street. The
miscreants who attacked him appear to have been
respectably dressed men, who escaped from the
bystanders by passing through the Café Royal and
out into Glasshouse Street behind it. No doubt
they belonged to that criminal fraternity which has
so often had occasion to bewail the activity and
ingenuity of the injured man."
I need not say that my eyes had hardly glanced
over the paragraph before I had sprung into a
hansom and was on my way to Baker Street. I found
Sir Leslie Oakshott, the famous surgeon in the hall
and his brougham waiting at the kerb.
"No immediate danger," was his report. "Two
lacerated scalp wounds and some considerable
bruises. Several stitches have been necessary.
Morphine has been injected and quiet is essential, but
an interview of a few minutes would not be
absolutely forbidden."
With this permission I stole into the darkened
room. The sufferer was wide awake, and I heard
my name in a hoarse whisper. The blind was
three-quarters down, but one ray of sunlight slanted
through and struck the bandaged head of the injured
man. A crimson patch had soaked through the
white linen compress. I sat beside him and bent
my head.
"All right, Watson. Don't look so scared," he
muttered in a very weak voice. "It's not as bad
as it seems."
"Thank God for that!"
"I'm a bit of a single-stick expert, as you know.
I took most of them on my guard. It was the second
man that was too much for me."
"What can I do, Holmes? Of course, it was
that damned fellow who set them on. I'll go and
thrash the hide off him if you give the word."
"Good old Watson! No, we can do nothing
there unless the police lay their hands on the men.
But their get-away had been well prepared. We
may be sure of that. Wait a little. I have my
plans. The first thing is to exaggerate my injuries.
They'll come to you for news. Put it on thick,
Watson. Lucky if I live the week
out—concussion—delirium—what you like! You can't overdo it."
"But Sir Leslie Oakshott?"
"Oh, he's all right. He shall see the worst side
of me. I'll look after that."
"Anything else?"
"Yes. Tell Shinwell Johnson to get that girl out
of the way. Those beauties will be after her now.
They know, of course, that she was with me in the
case. If they dared to do me in it is not likely they
will neglect her. That is urgent. Do it to-night."
"I'll go now. Anything more?"
"Put my pipe on the table—and the tobacco-slipper.
Right! Come in each morning and we
will plan our campaign."
I arranged with Johnson that evening to take Miss
Winter to a quiet suburb and see that she lay low
until the danger was past.
For six days the public were under the impression
that Holmes was at the door of death. The bulletins
were very grave and there were sinister paragraphs
in the papers. My continual visits assured me that
it was not so bad as that. His wiry constitution and
his determined will were working wonders. He was
recovering fast, and I had suspicions at times that
he was really finding himself faster than he
pretended, even to me. There was a curious secretive
streak in the man which led to many dramatic effects,
but left even his closest friend guessing as to what
his exact plans might be. He pushed to an extreme
the axiom that the only safe plotter was he who
plotted alone. I was nearer him than anyone
else, and yet I was always conscious of the gap
between.
On the seventh day the stitches were taken out,
in spite of which there was a report of erysipelas in
the evening papers. The same evening papers had
an announcement which I was bound, sick or well,
to carry to my friend. It was simply that among
the passengers on the Cunard boat Ruritania,
starting from Liverpool on Friday, was the Baron
Adelbert Gruner, who had some important financial
business to settle in the States before his impending
wedding to Miss Violet de Merville, only daughter of,
etc., etc. Holmes listened to the news with a cold,
concentrated look upon his pale face, which told me
that it hit him hard.
"Friday!" he cried. "Only three clear days.
I believe the rascal wants to put himself out of
danger's way. But he won't, Watson! By the Lord
Harry, he won't! Now, Watson, I want you to do
something for me."
"I am here to be used, Holmes."
"Well, then, spend the next twenty-four hours in
an intensive study of Chinese pottery."
He gave no explanations and I asked for none.
By long experience I had learned the wisdom of
obedience. But when I had left his room I walked
down Baker Street, revolving in my head how on
earth I was to carry out so strange an order. Finally
I drove to the London Library in St. James's Square,
put the matter to my friend Lomax, the sub-librarian,
and departed to my rooms with a goodly
volume under my arm.
It is said that the barrister who crams up a case
with such care that he can examine an expert witness
upon the Monday has forgotten all his forced
knowledge before the Saturday. Certainly I should not
like now to pose as an authority upon ceramics.
And yet all that evening, and all that night with a
short interval for rest, and all next morning I was
sucking in knowledge and committing names to
memory. There I learned of the hall-marks of the
great artist-decorators, of the mystery of cyclical
dates, the marks of the Hung-wu and the beauties
of the Yung-lo, the writings of Tang-ying, and the
glories of the primitive period of the Sung and the
Yuan. I was charged with all this information when
I called upon Holmes next evening. He was out of
bed now, though you would not have guessed it from
the published reports, and he sat with his
much-bandaged head resting upon his hand in the depth
of his favourite arm-chair.
"Why, Holmes," I said, "if one believed the
papers you are dying."
"That," said he, "is the very impression which I
intended to convey. And now, Watson, have you
learned your lessons?"
"At least I have tried to."
"Good. You could keep up an intelligent
conversation on the subject?"
"I believe I could."
"Then hand me that little box from the mantel-piece."
He opened the lid and took out a small object
most carefully wrapped in some fine Eastern silk.
This he unfolded, and disclosed a delicate little
saucer of the most beautiful deep-blue colour.
"It needs careful handling, Watson. This is
the real egg-shell pottery of the Ming dynasty. No
finer piece ever passed through Christie's. A complete
set of this would be worth a king's ransom—in
fact, it is doubtful if there is a complete set outside
the Imperial palace of Peking. The sight of this
would drive a real connoisseur wild."
"What am I to do with it?"
Holmes handed me a card upon which was
printed: "Dr. Hill Barton, 369 Half Moon Street."
"That is your name for the evening, Watson.
You will call upon Baron Gruner. I know something
of his habits, and at half-past eight he would
probably be disengaged. A note will tell him in
advance that you are about to call, and you will say
that you are bringing him a specimen of an absolutely
unique set of Ming china. You may as well be a
medical man, since that is a part which you can play
without duplicity. You are a collector, this set has
come your way, you have heard of the Baron's interest
in the subject, and you are not averse to selling
at a price."
"What price?"
"Well asked, Watson. You would certainly
fall down badly if you did not know the value of
your own wares. This saucer was got for me by Sir
James, and comes, I understand, from the collection
of his client. You will not exaggerate if you
say that it could hardly be matched in the world."
"I could perhaps suggest that the set should be
valued by an expert."
"Excellent, Watson! You scintillate to-day.
Suggest Christie or Sotheby. Your delicacy prevents
your putting a price for yourself."
"But if he won't see me?"
"Oh, yes, he will see you. He has the collection
mania in its most acute form—and especially on this
subject, on which he is an acknowledged authority.
Sit down, Watson, and I will dictate the letter. No
answer needed. You will merely say that you are
coming, and why."
It was an admirable document, short, courteous,
and stimulating to the curiosity of the connoisseur.
A district messenger was duly dispatched with it.
On the same evening, with the precious saucer in my
hand and the card of Dr. Hill Barton in my pocket,
I set off on my own adventure.
The beautiful house and grounds indicated that
Baron Gruner was, as Sir James had said, a man of
considerable wealth. A long winding drive, with
banks of rare shrubs on either side, opened out into
a great gravelled square adorned with statues. The
place had been built by a South African gold king
in the days of the great boom, and the long, low
house with the turrets at the corners, though an
architectural nightmare, was imposing in its size
and solidity. A butler who would have adorned a
bench of bishops showed me in, and handed me over
to a plush-clad footman, who ushered me into the
Baron's presence.
He was standing at the open front of a great case
which stood between the windows, and which contained
part of his Chinese collection. He turned as
I entered with a small brown vase in his hand.
"Pray sit down, doctor," said he. "I was
looking over my own treasures and wondering whether
I could really afford to add to them. This little
Tang specimen, which dates from the seventh
century, would probably interest you. I am sure you
never saw finer workmanship or a richer glaze.
Have you the Ming saucer with you of which you
spoke?"
I carefully unpacked it and handed it to him. He
seated himself at his desk, pulled over the lamp, for
it was growing dark, and set himself to examine it.
As he did so the yellow light beat upon his own
features, and I was able to study them at my ease.
He was certainly a remarkably handsome man.
His European reputation for beauty was fully
deserved. In figure he was not more than of middle
size, but was built upon graceful and active lines.
His face was swarthy, almost Oriental, with large,
dark, languorous eyes which might easily hold an
irresistible fascination for women. His hair and
moustache were raven black, the latter short,
pointed, and carefully waxed. His features were
regular and pleasing, save only his straight,
thin-lipped mouth. If ever I saw a murderer's mouth
it was there—a cruel, hard gash in the face,
compressed, inexorable, and terrible. He was
ill-advised to train his moustache away from it, for it
was Nature's danger-signal, set as a warning to his
victims. His voice was engaging and his manners
perfect. In age I should have put him at little over
thirty, though his record afterwards showed that he
was forty-two.
"Very fine—very fine indeed!" he said at last.
"And you say you have a set of six to correspond.
What puzzles me is that I should not have heard of
such magnificent specimens. I only know of one in
England to match this, and it is certainly not likely to
be in the market. Would it be indiscreet if I were to
ask you, Dr. Hill Barton, how you obtained this?"
"Does it really matter?" I asked, with as careless
an air as I could muster. "You can see that
the piece is genuine, and, as to the value, I am
content to take an expert's valuation."
"Very mysterious," said he, with a quick,
suspicious flash of his dark eyes. "In dealing with
objects of such value, one naturally wishes to know
all about the transaction. That the piece is genuine
is certain. I have no doubts at all about that. But
suppose—I am bound to take every possibility into
account—that it should prove afterwards that you
had no right to sell?"
"I would guarantee you against any claim of the sort."
"That, of course, would open up the question as
to what your guarantee was worth."
"My bankers would answer that."
"Quite so. And yet the whole transaction strikes
me as rather unusual."
"You can do business or not," said I, with
indifference. "I have given you the first offer as I
understood that you were a connoisseur, but I shall
have no difficulty in other quarters."
"Who told you I was a connoisseur?"
"I was aware that you had written a book upon
the subject."
"Have you read the book?"
"No."
"Dear me, this becomes more and more difficult
for me to understand! You are a connoisseur and
collector with a very valuable piece in your collection,
and yet you have never troubled to consult the one
book which would have told you of the real meaning
and value of what you held. How do you explain that?"
"I am a very busy man. I am a doctor in practice."
"That is no answer. If a man has a hobby he
follows it up, whatever his other pursuits may be.
You said in your note that you were a connoisseur."
"So I am."
"Might I ask you a few questions to test you? I
am obliged to tell you, doctor—if you are indeed a
doctor—that the incident becomes more and more
suspicious. I would ask you what do you know of
the Emperor Shomu and how do you associate him
with the Shoso-in near Nara? Dear me, does that
puzzle you? Tell me a little about the Northern
Wei dynasty and its place in the history of ceramics."
I sprang from my chair in simulated anger.
"This is intolerable, sir," said I. "I came here
to do you a favour, and not to be examined as if I
were a schoolboy. My knowledge on these subjects
may be second only to your own, but I certainly
shall not answer questions which have been put in
so offensive a way."
He looked at me steadily. The languor had gone
from his eyes. They suddenly glared. There was
a gleam of teeth from between those cruel lips.
"What is the game? You are here as a spy.
You are an emissary of Holmes. This is a trick that
you are playing upon me. The fellow is dying, I hear,
so he sends his tools to keep watch upon me. You've
made your way in here without leave, and, by God! you
may find it harder to get out than to get in."
He had sprung to his feet, and I stepped back,
bracing myself for an attack, for the man was beside
himself with rage. He may have suspected me from
the first; certainly this cross-examination had
shown him the truth; but it was clear that I could
not hope to deceive him. He dived his hand into a
side-drawer and rummaged furiously. Then
something struck upon his ear, for he stood listening
intently.
"Ah!" he cried. "Ah!" and dashed into the
room behind him.
Two steps took me to the open door, and my mind
will ever carry a clear picture of the scene within.
The window leading out to the garden was wide
open. Beside it, looking like some terrible ghost,
his head girt with bloody bandages, his face drawn
and white, stood Sherlock Holmes. The next instant
he was through the gap, and I heard the crash
of his body among the laurel bushes outside. With
a howl of rage the master of the house rushed after
him to the open window.
And then! It was done in an instant, and yet I
clearly saw it. An arm—a woman's arm—shot out
from among the leaves. At the same instant the
Baron uttered a horrible cry—a yell which will
always ring in my memory. He clapped his two
hands to his face and rushed round the room, beating
his head horribly against the walls. Then he fell
upon the carpet, rolling and writhing, while scream
after scream resounded through the house.
"Water! For God's sake, water!" was his cry.
I seized a carafe from a side-table and rushed to
his aid. At the same moment the butler and several
footmen ran in from the hall. I remember that one
of them fainted as I knelt by the injured man and
turned that awful face to the light of the lamp.
The vitriol was eating into it everywhere and
dripping from the ears and the chin. One eye was
already white and glazed. The other was red and
inflamed. The features which I had admired a few
minutes before were now like some beautiful painting
over which the artist has passed a wet and foul
sponge. They were blurred, discoloured, inhuman,
terrible.
In a few words I explained exactly what had
occurred, so far as the vitriol attack was concerned.
Some had climbed through the window and others
had rushed out on to the lawn, but it was dark and it
had begun to rain. Between his screams the victim
raged and raved against the avenger. "It was that
hell-cat, Kitty Winter!" he cried. "Oh, the
she-devil! She shall pay for it! She shall pay! Oh,
God in heaven, this pain is more than I can bear!"
I bathed his face in oil, put cotton wadding on the
raw surfaces, and administered a hypodermic of
morphia. All suspicion of me had passed from his
mind in the presence of this shock, and he clung to
my hands as if I might have the power even yet to
clear those dead-fish eyes which gazed up at me. I
could have wept over the ruin had I not remembered
very clearly the vile life which had led up to so
hideous a change. It was loathsome to feel the
pawing of his burning hands, and I was relieved when his
family surgeon, closely followed by a specialist, came
to relieve me of my charge. An inspector of police
had also arrived, and to him I handed my real card.
It would have been useless as well as foolish to do
otherwise, for I was nearly as well known by sight at
the Yard as Holmes himself. Then I left that house
of gloom and terror. Within an hour I was at Baker
Street.
Holmes was seated in his familiar chair, looking
very pale and exhausted. Apart from his injuries,
even his iron nerves had been shocked by the events
of the evening, and he listened with horror to my
account of the Baron's transformation.
"The wages of sin, Watson—the wages of sin!"
said he. "Sooner or later it will always come.
God knows, there was sin enough," he added, taking
up a brown volume from the table. "Here is the
book the woman talked of. If this will not break off
the marriage, nothing ever could. But it will,
Watson. It must. No self-respecting woman could
stand it."
"It is his love diary?"
"Or his lust diary. Call it what you will. The
moment the woman told us of it I realized what a
tremendous weapon was there, if we could but lay
our hands on it. I said nothing at the time to
indicate my thoughts, for this woman might have given
it away. But I brooded over it. Then this assault
upon me gave me the chance of letting the Baron
think that no precautions need be taken against me.
That was all to the good. I would have waited a
little longer, but his visit to America forced my hand.
He would never have left so compromising a document
behind him. Therefore we had to act at once.
Burglary at night is impossible. He takes
precautions. But there was a chance in the evening if
I could only be sure that his attention was engaged.
That was where you and your blue saucer came in.
But I had to be sure of the position of the book, and
I knew I had only a few minutes in which to act,
for my time was limited by your knowledge of
Chinese pottery. Therefore I gathered the girl up
at the last moment. How could I guess what the
little packet was that she carried so carefully under
her cloak? I thought she had come altogether on
my business, but it seems she had some of her own."
"He guessed I came from you."
"I feared he would. But you held him in play
just long enough for me to get the book, though not
long enough for an unobserved escape. Ah, Sir
James, I am very glad you have come!"
Our courtly friend had appeared in answer to a
previous summons. He listened with the deepest
attention to Holmes's account of what had occurred.
"You have done wonders—wonders!" he cried,
when he had heard the narrative. "But if these
injuries are as terrible as Dr. Watson describes, then
surely our purpose of thwarting the marriage is
sufficiently gained without the use of this horrible
book."
Holmes shook his head.
"Women of the de Merville type do not act like
that. She would love him the more as a disfigured
martyr. No, no. It is his moral side, not his
physical, which we have to destroy. That book will
bring her back to earth—and I know nothing else
that could. It is in his own writing. She cannot
get past it."
Sir James carried away both it and the precious
saucer. As I was myself overdue, I went down
with him into the street. A brougham was waiting
for him. He sprang in, gave a hurried order to the
cockaded coachman, and drove swiftly away. He
flung his overcoat half out of the window to cover
the armorial bearings upon the panel, but I had seen
them in the glare of our fanlight none the less. I
gasped with surprise. Then I turned back and
ascended the stair to Holmes's room.
"I have found out who our client is," I cried,
bursting with my great news. "Why, Holmes, it
is——"
"It is a loyal friend and a chivalrous gentleman,"
said Holmes, holding up a restraining hand. "Let
that now and for ever be enough for us."
I do not know how the incriminating book was
used. Sir James may have managed it. Or it is
more probable that so delicate a task was entrusted
to the young lady's father. The effect, at any rate,
was all that could be desired. Three days later
appeared a paragraph in The Morning Post to say
that the marriage between Baron Adelbert Gruner
and Miss Violet de Merville would not take place.
The same paper had the first police-court hearing of
the proceedings against Miss Kitty Winter on the
grave charge of vitriol-throwing. Such extenuating
circumstances came out in the trial that the sentence,
as will be remembered, was the lowest that was
possible for such an offence. Sherlock Holmes was
threatened with a prosecution for burglary, but
when an object is good and a client is sufficiently
illustrious, even the rigid British law becomes human
and elastic. My friend has not yet stood in the dock.