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THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
ADVENTURE III. A CASE OF IDENTITY
"My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side of the fire in his
lodgings at Baker Street, "life is infinitely stranger than anything which the
mind of man could invent.
We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of
existence.
If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently
remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange
coincidences, the plannings, the cross-
purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to
the most outré results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and
foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable."
"And yet I am not convinced of it," I answered.
"The cases which come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and
vulgar enough.
We have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the
result is, it must be confessed, neither fascinating nor artistic."
"A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic effect,"
remarked Holmes.
"This is wanting in the police report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon
the platitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an observer contain
the vital essence of the whole matter.
Depend upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace."
I smiled and shook my head. "I can quite understand your thinking so,"
I said.
"Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser and helper to everybody who is
absolutely puzzled, throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with
all that is strange and bizarre.
But here"--I picked up the morning paper from the ground--"let us put it to a
practical test. Here is the first heading upon which I
come.
'A husband's cruelty to his wife.' There is half a column of print, but I know
without reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me.
There is, of course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the
sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of writers could invent nothing
more crude."
"Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument," said Holmes, taking the
paper and glancing his eye down it.
"This is the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged in clearing up
some small points in connection with it.
The husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the conduct complained of
was that he had drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his
false teeth and hurling them at his wife,
which, you will allow, is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of the
average story-teller.
Take a pinch of snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over you in
your example." He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with
a great amethyst in the centre of the lid.
Its splendour was in such contrast to his homely ways and simple life that I could
not help commenting upon it. "Ah," said he, "I forgot that I had not
seen you for some weeks.
It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my assistance in the
case of the Irene Adler papers." "And the ring?"
I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which sparkled upon his finger.
"It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in which I
served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it even to you, who have
been good enough to chronicle one or two of my little problems."
"And have you any on hand just now?" I asked with interest.
"Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of interest.
They are important, you understand, without being interesting.
Indeed, I have found that it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field
for the observation, and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives
the charm to an investigation.
The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for the bigger the crime the more
obvious, as a rule, is the motive.
In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has been referred to
me from Marseilles, there is nothing which presents any features of interest.
It is possible, however, that I may have something better before very many minutes
are over, for this is one of my clients, or I am much mistaken."
He had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted blinds gazing
down into the dull neutral-tinted London street.
Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite there stood a large
woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red feather in a broad-
brimmed hat which was tilted in a
coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her ear.
From under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at our
windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with
her glove buttons.
Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried across the
road, and we heard the sharp clang of the bell.
"I have seen those symptoms before," said Holmes, throwing his cigarette into the
fire. "Oscillation upon the pavement always means
an affaire de coeur.
She would like advice, but is not sure that the matter is not too delicate for
communication. And yet even here we may discriminate.
When a woman has been seriously wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and the
usual symptom is a broken bell wire.
Here we may take it that there is a love matter, but that the maiden is not so much
angry as perplexed, or grieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our
doubts."
As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons entered to announce
Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behind his small black
figure like a full-sailed merchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat.
Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and,
having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked her over in the
minute and yet abstracted fashion which was peculiar to him.
"Do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is a little trying to do so
much typewriting?"
"I did at first," she answered, "but now I know where the letters are without
looking."
Then, suddenly realising the full purport of his words, she gave a violent start and
looked up, with fear and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face.
"You've heard about me, Mr. Holmes," she cried, "else how could you know all that?"
"Never mind," said Holmes, laughing; "it is my business to know things.
Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others overlook.
If not, why should you come to consult me?"
"I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege, whose husband you found
so easy when the police and everyone had given him up for dead.
Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as much for me.
I'm not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my own right, besides the little
that I make by the machine, and I would give it all to know what has become of Mr.
Hosmer Angel."
"Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?" asked Sherlock Holmes, with
his finger-tips together and his eyes to the ceiling.
Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss Mary
Sutherland.
"Yes, I did bang out of the house," she said, "for it made me angry to see the easy
way in which Mr. Windibank--that is, my father--took it all.
He would not go to the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he would
do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done, it made me mad, and I
just on with my things and came right away to you."
"Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather, surely, since the name is
different."
"Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny,
too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself."
"And your mother is alive?"
"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr. Holmes, when she
married again so soon after father's death, and a man who was nearly fifteen years
younger than herself.
Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy business behind
him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr. Windibank
came he made her sell the business, for he
was very superior, being a traveller in wines.
They got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and interest, which wasn't near as much as
father could have got if he had been alive."
I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this rambling and
inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened with the greatest
concentration of attention.
"Your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of the business?"
"Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my
uncle Ned in Auckland.
It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2 per cent.
Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can only touch the interest."
"You interest me extremely," said Holmes.
"And since you draw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the
bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way.
I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about 60
pounds."
"I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you understand that as long as
I live at home I don't wish to be a burden to them, and so they have the use of the
money just while I am staying with them.
Of course, that is only just for the time. Mr. Windibank draws my interest every
quarter and pays it over to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I
earn at typewriting.
It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a
day." "You have made your position very clear to
me," said Holmes.
"This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself.
Kindly tell us now all about your connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel."
A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she picked nervously at the fringe of
her jacket. "I met him first at the gasfitters' ball,"
she said.
"They used to send father tickets when he was alive, and then afterwards they
remembered us, and sent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go.
He never did wish us to go anywhere.
He would get quite mad if I wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat.
But this time I was set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to prevent?
He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all father's friends were to be
there.
And he said that I had nothing fit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never
so much as taken out of the drawer.
At last, when nothing else would do, he went off to France upon the business of the
firm, but we went, mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it
was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel."
"I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr. Windibank came back from France he was very
annoyed at your having gone to the ball." "Oh, well, he was very good about it.
He laughed, I remember, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use
denying anything to a woman, for she would have her way."
"I see.
Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, a gentleman called Mr. Hosmer
Angel." "Yes, sir.
I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if we had got home all safe, and
after that we met him--that is to say, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but
after that father came back again, and Mr.
Hosmer Angel could not come to the house any more."
"No?" "Well, you know father didn't like anything
of the sort.
He wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say that a woman
should be happy in her own family circle.
But then, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to begin with,
and I had not got mine yet." "But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel?
Did he make no attempt to see you?"
"Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer wrote and said that
it would be safer and better not to see each other until he had gone.
We could write in the meantime, and he used to write every day.
I took the letters in in the morning, so there was no need for father to know."
"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that
we took.
Hosmer--Mr. Angel--was a cashier in an office in Leadenhall Street--and--"
"What office?" "That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I
don't know."
"Where did he live, then?" "He slept on the premises."
"And you don't know his address?" "No--except that it was Leadenhall Street."
"Where did you address your letters, then?"
"To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be left till called for.
He said that if they were sent to the office he would be chaffed by all the other
clerks about having letters from a lady, so I offered to typewrite them, like he did
his, but he wouldn't have that, for he said
that when I wrote them they seemed to come from me, but when they were typewritten he
always felt that the machine had come between us.
That will just show you how fond he was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that
he would think of." "It was most suggestive," said Holmes.
"It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most
important. Can you remember any other little things
about Mr. Hosmer Angel?"
"He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me in the evening
than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to be conspicuous.
Very retiring and gentlemanly he was.
Even his voice was gentle. He'd had the quinsy and swollen glands when
he was young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat, and a hesitating,
whispering fashion of speech.
He was always well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just as mine
are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare."
"Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather, returned to
France?"
"Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we should marry before
father came back.
He was in dreadful earnest and made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that
whatever happened I would always be true to him.
Mother said he was quite right to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his
passion. Mother was all in his favour from the first
and was even fonder of him than I was.
Then, when they talked of marrying within the week, I began to ask about father; but
they both said never to mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother
said she would make it all right with him.
I didn't quite like that, Mr. Holmes.
It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as he was only a few years older
than me; but I didn't want to do anything on the sly, so I wrote to father at
Bordeaux, where the company has its French
offices, but the letter came back to me on the very morning of the wedding."
"It missed him, then?" "Yes, sir; for he had started to England
just before it arrived."
"Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, for the
Friday. Was it to be in church?"
"Yes, sir, but very quietly.
It was to be at St. Saviour's, near King's Cross, and we were to have breakfast
afterwards at the St. Pancras Hotel.
Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were two of us he put us both into it
and stepped himself into a four-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in
the street.
We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler drove up we waited for him to
step out, but he never did, and when the cabman got down from the box and looked
there was no one there!
The cabman said that he could not imagine what had become of him, for he had seen him
get in with his own eyes.
That was last Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything since
then to throw any light upon what became of him."
"It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated," said Holmes.
"Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so.
Why, all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to be true;
and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us, I was always to
remember that I was pledged to him, and
that he would claim his pledge sooner or later.
It seemed strange talk for a wedding- morning, but what has happened since gives
a meaning to it."
"Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some
unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?"
"Yes, sir.
I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he would not have talked so.
And then I think that what he foresaw happened."
"But you have no notion as to what it could have been?"
"None." "One more question.
How did your mother take the matter?"
"She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter again."
"And your father? Did you tell him?"
"Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had happened, and that I should
hear of Hosmer again.
As he said, what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of the church,
and then leaving me?
Now, if he had borrowed my money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on
him, there might be some reason, but Hosmer was very independent about money and never
would look at a shilling of mine.
And yet, what could have happened? And why could he not write?
Oh, it drives me half-mad to think of it, and I can't sleep a wink at night."
She pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavily into it.
"I shall glance into the case for you," said Holmes, rising, "and I have no doubt
that we shall reach some definite result.
Let the weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind dwell upon it
further.
Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory, as he has done
from your life." "Then you don't think I'll see him again?"
"I fear not."
"Then what has happened to him?" "You will leave that question in my hands.
I should like an accurate description of him and any letters of his which you can
spare."
"I advertised for him in last Saturday's Chronicle," said she.
"Here is the slip and here are four letters from him."
"Thank you.
And your address?" "No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell."
"Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand.
Where is your father's place of business?"
"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers of Fenchurch
Street." "Thank you.
You have made your statement very clearly.
You will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you.
Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect your life."
"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that.
I shall be true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back."
For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was something noble in
the simple faith of our visitor which compelled our respect.
She laid her little bundle of papers upon the table and went her way, with a promise
to come again whenever she might be summoned.
Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips still pressed
together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his gaze directed upward to the
ceiling.
Then he took down from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a
counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the thick blue
cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of infinite languor in his face.
"Quite an interesting study, that maiden," he observed.
"I found her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is
rather a trite one.
You will find parallel cases, if you consult my index, in Andover in '77, and
there was something of the sort at The Hague last year.
Old as is the idea, however, there were one or two details which were new to me.
But the maiden herself was most instructive."
"You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible to me," I
remarked. "Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson.
You did not know where to look, and so you missed all that was important.
I can never bring you to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness
of thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace.
Now, what did you gather from that woman's appearance?
Describe it."
"Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad- brimmed straw hat, with a feather of a
brickish red.
Her jacket was black, with black beads sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet
ornaments.
Her dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little purple plush
at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and were worn
through at the right forefinger.
Her boots I didn't observe. She had small round, hanging gold earrings,
and a general air of being fairly well-to- do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going
way."
Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.
"'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully.
You have really done very well indeed.
It is true that you have missed everything of importance, but you have hit upon the
method, and you have a quick eye for colour.
Never trust to general impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details.
My first glance is always at a woman's sleeve.
In a man it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser.
As you observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful
material for showing traces.
The double line a little above the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the
table, was beautifully defined.
The sewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves a similar mark, but only on the left
arm, and on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across
the broadest part, as this was.
I then glanced at her face, and, observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of
her nose, I ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to
surprise her."
"It surprised me." "But, surely, it was obvious.
I was then much surprised and interested on glancing down to observe that, though the
boots which she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were really odd ones; the
one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other a plain one.
One was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of five, and the other at the
first, third, and fifth.
Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come away
from home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no great deduction to say that she came
away in a hurry."
"And what else?" I asked, keenly interested, as I always
was, by my friend's incisive reasoning.
"I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving home but after being
fully dressed.
You observed that her right glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not
apparently see that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink.
She had written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep.
It must have been this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger.
All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go back to business,
Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised
description of Mr. Hosmer Angel?"
I held the little printed slip to the light.
"Missing," it said, "on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman named Hosmer Angel.
About five ft. seven in. in height; strongly built, sallow complexion, black
hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted
glasses, slight infirmity of speech.
Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat faced with silk, black
waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and grey Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters
over elastic-sided boots.
Known to have been employed in an office in Leadenhall Street.
Anybody bringing--" "That will do," said Holmes.
"As to the letters," he continued, glancing over them, "they are very commonplace.
Absolutely no clue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once.
There is one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you."
"They are typewritten," I remarked. "Not only that, but the signature is
typewritten.
Look at the neat little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom.
There is a date, you see, but no superscription except Leadenhall Street,
which is rather vague.
The point about the signature is very suggestive--in fact, we may call it
conclusive." "Of what?"
"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon the case?"
"I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able to deny his signature
if an action for breach of promise were instituted."
"No, that was not the point.
However, I shall write two letters, which should settle the matter.
One is to a firm in the City, the other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr.
Windibank, asking him whether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow evening.
It is just as well that we should do business with the male relatives.
And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the answers to those letters come, so we
may put our little problem upon the shelf for the interim."
I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers of reasoning and
extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must have some solid grounds for
the assured and easy demeanour with which
he treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to fathom.
Once only had I known him to fail, in the case of the King of Bohemia and of the
Irene Adler photograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of the Sign of
Four, and the extraordinary circumstances
connected with the Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed
which he could not unravel.
I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the conviction that when I
came again on the next evening I would find that he held in his hands all the clues
which would lead up to the identity of the
disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland.
A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at the time, and
the whole of next day I was busy at the bedside of the sufferer.
It was not until close upon six o'clock that I found myself free and was able to
spring into a hansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too
late to assist at the dénouement of the little mystery.
I found Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin form
curled up in the recesses of his armchair.
A formidable array of bottles and test- tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of
hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work which
was so dear to him.
"Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I entered.
"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta." "No, no, the mystery!"
I cried.
"Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been
working upon.
There was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday, some of the
details are of interest. The only drawback is that there is no law,
I fear, that can touch the scoundrel."
"Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss Sutherland?"
The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet opened his lips to
reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the passage and a tap at the door.
"This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes.
"He has written to me to say that he would be here at six.
Come in!"
The man who entered was a sturdy, middle- sized fellow, some thirty years of age,
clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of
wonderfully sharp and penetrating grey eyes.
He shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the
sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.
"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes.
"I think that this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment
with me for six o'clock?"
"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I
am not quite my own master, you know.
I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled you about this little matter, for
I think it is far better not to wash linen of the sort in public.
It was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable,
impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when she
has made up her mind on a point.
Of course, I did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the official
police, but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad.
Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you possibly find this Hosmer Angel?"
"On the contrary," said Holmes quietly; "I have every reason to believe that I will
succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel."
Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves.
"I am delighted to hear it," he said.
"It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes, "that a typewriter has really quite as much
individuality as a man's handwriting. Unless they are quite new, no two of them
write exactly alike.
Some letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one side.
Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank, that in every case there is some
little slurring over of the 'e,' and a slight defect in the tail of the 'r.'
There are fourteen other characteristics, but those are the more obvious."
"We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office, and no doubt it is a
little worn," our visitor answered, glancing keenly at Holmes with his bright
little eyes.
"And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study, Mr. Windibank,"
Holmes continued.
"I think of writing another little monograph some of these days on the
typewriter and its relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted
some little attention.
I have here four letters which purport to come from the missing man.
They are all typewritten.
In each case, not only are the 'e's' slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you
will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen other
characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well."
Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat.
"I cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes," he said.
"If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it."
"Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door.
"I let you know, then, that I have caught him!"
"What! where?" shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lips and glancing
about him like a rat in a trap. "Oh, it won't do--really it won't," said
Holmes suavely.
"There is no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank.
It is quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it
was impossible for me to solve so simple a question.
That's right!
Sit down and let us talk it over." Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a
ghastly face and a glitter of moisture on his brow.
"It--it's not actionable," he stammered.
"I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves, Windibank, it was as
cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way as ever came before me.
Now, let me just run over the course of events, and you will contradict me if I go
wrong."
The man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his breast, like one who
is utterly crushed.
Holmes stuck his feet up on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his
hands in his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it seemed, than to us.
"The man married a woman very much older than himself for her money," said he, "and
he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter as long as she lived with them.
It was a considerable sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would
have made a serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it.
The daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate and warm-
hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with her fair personal advantages, and
her little income, she would not be allowed to remain single long.
Now her marriage would mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her
stepfather do to prevent it?
He takes the obvious course of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the
company of people of her own age. But soon he found that that would not
answer forever.
She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and finally announced her positive
intention of going to a certain ball. What does her clever stepfather do then?
He conceives an idea more creditable to his head than to his heart.
With the connivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself, covered those
keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with a moustache and a pair of bushy
whiskers, sunk that clear voice into an
insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the girl's short sight, he
appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off other lovers by making love himself."
"It was only a joke at first," groaned our visitor.
"We never thought that she would have been so carried away."
"Very likely not.
However that may be, the young lady was very decidedly carried away, and, having
quite made up her mind that her stepfather was in France, the suspicion of treachery
never for an instant entered her mind.
She was flattered by the gentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by
the loudly expressed admiration of her mother.
Then Mr. Angel began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as
far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced.
There were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the girl's
affections from turning towards anyone else.
But the deception could not be kept up forever.
These pretended journeys to France were rather cumbrous.
The thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic
manner that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady's mind and
prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to come.
Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and hence also the allusions to
a possibility of something happening on the very morning of the wedding.
James Windibank wished Miss Sutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so
uncertain as to his fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not
listen to another man.
As far as the church door he brought her, and then, as he could go no farther, he
conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a four-
wheeler and out at the other.
I think that was the chain of events, Mr. Windibank!"
Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while Holmes had been talking,
and he rose from his chair now with a cold sneer upon his pale face.
"It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but if you are so very sharp you
ought to be sharp enough to know that it is you who are breaking the law now, and not
me.
I have done nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door
locked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal constraint."
"The law cannot, as you say, touch you," said Holmes, unlocking and throwing open
the door, "yet there never was a man who deserved punishment more.
If the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought to lay a whip across your
shoulders.
By Jove!" he continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon the man's
face, "it is not part of my duties to my client, but here's a hunting crop handy,
and I think I shall just treat myself to--"
He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it there was a wild
clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we
could see Mr. James Windibank running at the top of his speed down the road.
"There's a cold-blooded scoundrel!" said Holmes, laughing, as he threw himself down
into his chair once more.
"That fellow will rise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, and ends
on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not
entirely devoid of interest."
"I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning," I remarked.
"Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr. Hosmer Angel must have
some strong object for his curious conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man
who really profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the stepfather.
Then the fact that the two men were never together, but that the one always appeared
when the other was away, was suggestive.
So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice, which both hinted at a
disguise, as did the bushy whiskers.
My suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in typewriting his
signature, which, of course, inferred that his handwriting was so familiar to her that
she would recognise even the smallest sample of it.
You see all these isolated facts, together with many minor ones, all pointed in the
same direction."
"And how did you verify them?" "Having once spotted my man, it was easy to
get corroboration. I knew the firm for which this man worked.
Having taken the printed description.
I eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguise--the whiskers,
the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to the firm, with a request that they would
inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their travellers.
I had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and I wrote to the man
himself at his business address asking him if he would come here.
As I expected, his reply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but
characteristic defects.
The same post brought me a letter from Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street,
to say that the description tallied in every respect with that of their employé,
James Windibank.
Voilà tout!" "And Miss Sutherland?"
"If I tell her she will not believe me.
You may remember the old Persian saying, 'There is danger for him who taketh the
tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.'
There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the
world."
>
THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
ADVENTURE IV. THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY
We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid brought in a
telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran in this
way:
"Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from the west of
England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy.
Shall be glad if you will come with me.
Air and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the 11:15."
"What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me.
"Will you go?"
"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at present."
"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a little pale lately.
I think that the change would do you good, and you are always so interested in Mr.
Sherlock Holmes' cases."
"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through one of them,"
I answered. "But if I am to go, I must pack at once,
for I have only half an hour."
My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect of making me a
prompt and ready traveller.
My wants were few and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cab
with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station.
Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even
gaunter and taller by his long grey travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth
cap.
"It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he.
"It makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can
thoroughly rely.
Local aid is always either worthless or else biassed.
If you will keep the two corner seats I shall get the tickets."
We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers which Holmes
had brought with him.
Among these he rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation,
until we were past Reading.
Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the
rack. "Have you heard anything of the case?" he
asked.
"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."
"The London press has not had very full accounts.
I have just been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the
particulars.
It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so extremely
difficult." "That sounds a little paradoxical."
"But it is profoundly true.
Singularity is almost invariably a clue. The more featureless and commonplace a
crime is, the more difficult it is to bring it home.
In this case, however, they have established a very serious case against the
son of the murdered man." "It is a murder, then?"
"Well, it is conjectured to be so.
I shall take nothing for granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally
into it.
I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able to understand
it, in a very few words. "Boscombe Valley is a country district not
very far from Ross, in Herefordshire.
The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr. John Turner, who made his money in
Australia and returned some years ago to the old country.
One of the farms which he held, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy,
who was also an ex-Australian.
The men had known each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that
when they came to settle down they should do so as near each other as possible.
Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant but still
remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently together.
McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same
age, but neither of them had wives living.
They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English families and to
have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of sport and were
frequently seen at the race-meetings of the neighbourhood.
McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl.
Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least.
That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families.
Now for the facts.
"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at Hatherley about
three in the afternoon and walked down to the Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake
formed by the spreading out of the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley.
He had been out with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told the man
that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at three.
From that appointment he never came back alive.
"From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a mile, and two people
saw him as he passed over this ground.
One was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was William
Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner.
Both these witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone.
The game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he
had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under his arm.
To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight at the time, and the son
was following him.
He thought no more of the matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that
had occurred.
"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder, the game-keeper, lost
sight of them.
The Boscombe Pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds
round the edge.
A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the
Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the woods picking flowers.
She states that while she was there she saw, at the border of the wood and close by
the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a violent
quarrel.
She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very strong language to his son, and she saw the
latter raise up his hand as if to strike his father.
She was so frightened by their violence that she ran away and told her mother when
she reached home that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool,
and that she was afraid that they were going to fight.
She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy came running up to the lodge
to say that he had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the
lodge-keeper.
He was much excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve
were observed to be stained with fresh blood.
On following him they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the
pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated
blows of some heavy and blunt weapon.
The injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his
son's gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the body.
Under these circumstances the young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of
'wilful murder' having been returned at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday
brought before the magistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the next Assizes.
Those are the main facts of the case as they came out before the coroner and the
police-court."
"I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked.
"If ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here."
"Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered Holmes thoughtfully.
"It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of
view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to
something entirely different.
It must be confessed, however, that the case looks exceedingly grave against the
young man, and it is very possible that he is indeed the culprit.
There are several people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss
Turner, the daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his innocence,
and who have retained Lestrade, whom you
may recollect in connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in his
interest.
Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and hence it is
that two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of
quietly digesting their breakfasts at home."
"I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so obvious that you will find little credit
to be gained out of this case."
"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," he answered, laughing.
"Besides, we may chance to hit upon some other obvious facts which may have been by
no means obvious to Mr. Lestrade.
You know me too well to think that I am boasting when I say that I shall either
confirm or destroy his theory by means which he is quite incapable of employing,
or even of understanding.
To take the first example to hand, I very clearly perceive that in your bedroom the
window is upon the right-hand side, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have
noted even so self-evident a thing as that."
"How on earth--" "My dear fellow, I know you well.
I know the military neatness which characterises you.
You shave every morning, and in this season you shave by the sunlight; but since your
shaving is less and less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until it
becomes positively slovenly as we get round
the angle of the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated
than the other.
I could not imagine a man of your habits looking at himself in an equal light and
being satisfied with such a result. I only quote this as a trivial example of
observation and inference.
Therein lies my métier, and it is just possible that it may be of some service in
the investigation which lies before us.
There are one or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which
are worth considering." "What are they?"
"It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the return to
Hatherley Farm.
On the inspector of constabulary informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked
that he was not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts.
This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any traces of doubt
which might have remained in the minds of the coroner's jury."
"It was a confession," I ejaculated.
"No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence."
"Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a most
suspicious remark."
"On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift which I can at present see
in the clouds.
However innocent he might be, he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see
that the circumstances were very black against him.
Had he appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I
should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such surprise or anger
would not be natural under the
circumstances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man.
His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent man, or else as a
man of considerable self-restraint and firmness.
As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not unnatural if you consider that he
stood beside the dead body of his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that
very day so far forgotten his filial duty
as to bandy words with him, and even, according to the little girl whose evidence
is so important, to raise his hand as if to strike him.
The self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be
the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty one."
I shook my head.
"Many men have been hanged on far slighter evidence," I remarked.
"So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged."
"What is the young man's own account of the matter?"
"It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though there are one or
two points in it which are suggestive.
You will find it here, and may read it for yourself."
He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire paper, and having
turned down the sheet he pointed out the paragraph in which the unfortunate young
man had given his own statement of what had occurred.
I settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully.
It ran in this way:
"Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called and gave evidence
as follows: 'I had been away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just
returned upon the morning of last Monday, the 3rd.
My father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I was informed by the
maid that he had driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom.
Shortly after my return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out
of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard, though I was not
aware in which direction he was going.
I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the Boscombe Pool, with the
intention of visiting the rabbit warren which is upon the other side.
On my way I saw William Crowder, the game- keeper, as he had stated in his evidence;
but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father.
I had no idea that he was in front of me.
When about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of "Cooee!" which was a usual
signal between my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found him
standing by the pool.
He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was
doing there.
A conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows, for my father
was a man of a very violent temper.
Seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and returned
towards Hatherley Farm.
I had not gone more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous outcry
behind me, which caused me to run back again.
I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head terribly injured.
I dropped my gun and held him in my arms, but he almost instantly expired.
I knelt beside him for some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's lodge-
keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for assistance.
I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came by
his injuries.
He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his manners, but he
had, as far as I know, no active enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.'
"The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before he died?
"Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some allusion to a rat.
"The Coroner: What did you understand by that?
"Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was delirious.
"The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father had this final quarrel?
"Witness: I should prefer not to answer. "The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press
it.
"Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you.
I can assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed.
"The Coroner: That is for the court to decide.
I need not point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case
considerably in any future proceedings which may arise.
"Witness: I must still refuse.
"The Coroner: I understand that the cry of 'Cooee' was a common signal between you and
your father? "Witness: It was.
"The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw you, and before he
even knew that you had returned from Bristol?
"Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.
"A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when you returned
on hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured?
"Witness: Nothing definite.
"The Coroner: What do you mean? "Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as
I rushed out into the open, that I could think of nothing except of my father.
Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay upon the ground to
the left of me.
It seemed to me to be something grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid
perhaps. When I rose from my father I looked round
for it, but it was gone.
"'Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?'
"'Yes, it was gone.' "'You cannot say what it was?'
"'No, I had a feeling something was there.'
"'How far from the body?' "'A dozen yards or so.'
"'And how far from the edge of the wood?' "'About the same.'
"'Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?'
"'Yes, but with my back towards it.' "This concluded the examination of the
witness."
"I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the coroner in his concluding
remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy.
He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father having
signalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to give details of his
conversation with his father, and his
singular account of his father's dying words.
They are all, as he remarks, very much against the son."
Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the cushioned
seat.
"Both you and the coroner have been at some pains," said he, "to single out the very
strongest points in the young man&#