VERBO
HARVARD
COLLEGE
LIBRARY








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7.com
Albert
deptember 26



1
Robert Sains Stevennen


GREAT
SHORT STORIES
Edited by William Patten
A NEW COLLECTION
OF FAMOUS EXAMPLES
FROM THE LITERA-
TURES OF FRANCE,
ENGLAND AND AMERICA
VOLUME 1
DETECTIVE
STORIES
P. F. COLLIER & SON
NEW YORK
to oto oto
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oto oto oto oto oto oto oto oto oto
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Lit 24oo.es
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HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY
BEQUEST OF
WINWARD PRESCOTT
JANUARY 27, 1933
COPYRIGHT, 1906
By P. F. COLLIER & Son


400 mozda tr the fuel page
TABLE OF CONTENTS
lacus
1fo re
29
34
39
176
85
THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
... By Edgar Allan Poe 5
THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET ... By Edgar Allan Poe 45
THE PURLOINED LETTER ... ... ... By Edgar Allan Poe 99
THE SIGN OF THE FOUR ... ... ... By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 121
I. The Science of Deduction
II. The Statement of the Case ...
III. In Quest of a Solution ... ... ...
IV. The Story of the Bald-headed Man ...
V. The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge ...
VI. Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration ...
VII. The Episode of the Barrel
VIII. The Baker Street Irregulars ...
IX, A Break in the Chain ... ...
X. The End of the Islander ... ...
XI. The Great Agra Treasure
XII. The Strange Story of Jonathan Small ...
... 209
A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA ... ... By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 237
THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK By Anna Katharine Green 265
THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND ... ... ... By Robert Louis Stevenson 313
Story of the Bandbox ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 313
Story of the Young Man in Holy Orders ... ... ... ... 337
Story of the House with the Green Blinds ... ... ... ... 352
The Adventure of Prince Florizel and a Detective ... ... ... 382
THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK By Broughton Brandenburg 391
THE CHRONICLES OF ADDINGTON PEACE By B. Fletcher Robinson 413
The Vanished Millionaire ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 413
95
33
33
Vol. I
MS. NOTE BY
MR. PRESCOTT





THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE
This and the two stories that follow it
constitute a trilogy of stories with related
methods of construction. They were the
first detective stories, and are still consid.
ered the most famous models of their kind.
Written by a poor struggling, underpaid hack
journalist at a time when literary inspiration
was derived principally from abroad, they were
first published 1841-5. Soon afterward “The
Murders in the Rue Morgue" was translated
into French and appeared in several French
journals, notably the “Charivari.” This con-
stituted Poe's introduction to a French audi.
ence, and it won for him a warmer and a
more general recognition than he has ever
had in this country. Judged by the extent
of his influence on writers of short stories,
both here and abroad, Poe is the most im.
portant figure in American literature.





THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
By EDGAR ALLAN POE
What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles
assumed when he hid himself among women, al.
though puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.
Sir Thomas Browne
HE mental features discoursed of as the analytical,
are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis.
We appreciate them only in their effects. We know
of them, among other things, that they are always
to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of
the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in his
physical ability, delighting in such exercises as call his mus-
cles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activity
which disentangles. He derives pleasure from even the most
trivial occupations bringing his talent into play. He is fond
of enigmas, of conundrums, hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his
solutions of each a degree of acumen which appears to the
ordinary apprehension preternatural. His results, brought
about by the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth,
the whole air of intuition.
The faculty of resolution is possibly much invigorated
by mathematical study, and especially by that highest branch
of it which, unjustly, and merely on account of its retro-
grade operations, has been called, as if par excellence, analy-
sis. Yet to calculate is not in itself to analyze. A chess-
player, for example, does the one, without effort at the
other. It follows that the game of chess, in its effects upon
mental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am not now
writing a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiar
narrative by observations very much at random; I will,
therefore, take occasion to assert that the higher powers
of the reflective intellect are more decidedly and more use-
fully tasked by the unostentatious game of draughts than
by all the elaborate frivolity of chess. In this latter, where


EDGAR ALLAN POE
the pieces have different and bizarre motions, with vari.
ous and variable values, what is only complex, is mistaken
(a not unusual error) for what is profound. The attention
is here called powerfully into play. If it flag for an instant,
an oversight is committed, resulting in injury or defeat.
The possible moves being not only manifold, but involute,
the chances of such oversights are multiplied; and in nine
cases out of ten, it is the more concentrative rather than
the more acute player who conquers. In draughts, on the
contrary, where the moves are unique and have but little
variation, the probabilities of inadvertence are diminished,
and the mere attention being left comparatively unemployed,
what advantages are obtained by either party are obtained
by superior acumen. To be less abstract, let us suppose
a game of draughts where the pieces are reduced to four
kings, and where, of course, no oversight is to be expected.
It is obvious that here the victory can be decided (the play-
ers being at all equal) only by some recherché movement,
the result of some strong exertion of the intellect. Deprived
of ordinary resources, the analyst throws himself into the
spirit of his opponent, identifies himself therewith, and not
unfrequently sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods (some-
times indeed absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce
into error or hurry into miscalculation.
Whist has long been known for its influence upon what
is termed the calculating power; and men of the highest
order of intellect have been known to take an apparently
unaccountable delight in it, while eschewing chess as frivo-
lous. Beyond doubt there is nothing of a similar nature
so greatly tasking the faculty of analysis. The best chess-
player in Christendom may be little more than the best
player of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacity
for success in all these more important undertakings where
mind struggles with mind. When I say proficiency, I mean
that perfection in the game which includes a comprehen-
sion of all the sources whence legitimate advantage may be
derived. These are not only manifold, but multiform, and
lie frequently among recesses of thought altogether inac-
cessible to the ordinary understanding. To observe atten-


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
tively is to remember distinctly; and, so far, the concentra.
tive chess-player will do very well at whist; while the rules
of Hoyle (themselves based upon the mere mechanism of the
game) are sufficiently and generally comprehensible. Thus
to have a retentive memory, and proceed by "the book," are
points commonly regarded as the sum total of good playing.
But it is in matters beyond the limits of mere rule that the
skill of the analyst is evinced. He makes, in silence, a host
of observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do his com-
panions; and the difference in the extent of the information
obtained, lies not so much in the validity of the inference
as in the quality of the observation. The necessary knowl-
edge is that of what to observe. Our player confines him-
self not at all; nor, because the game is the object, does
he reject deductions from things external to the game. He
examines the countenance of his partner, comparing it care-
fully with that of each of his opponents. He considers the
mode of assorting the cards in each hand; often counting
trump by trump, and honor by honor, through the glances
bestowed by their holders upon each. He notes every vari.
ation of face as the play progresses, gathering a fund of
thought from the differences in the expression of certainty,
of surprise, of triumph, or chagrin. From the manner of
gathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking it
can make another in the suit. He recognizes what is played
through feint, by the manner with which it is thrown upon
the table. A casual or inadvertent word; the accidental
dropping or turning of a card, with the accompanying anxi-
ety or carelessness in regard to its concealment; the count-
ing of the tricks, with the order of their arrangement; em-
barrassment, hesitation, eagerness, or trepidation-all afford,
to his apparently intuitive perception, indications of the
true state of affairs. The first two or three rounds having
been played, he is in full possession of the contents of each
hand, and thenceforward puts down his cards with as abso-
lute a precision of purpose as if the rest of the party had
turned outward the faces of their own.
The analytical power should not be confounded with
simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is necessarily in-


EDGAR ALLAN POE
genious, the ingenious man is often remarkably incapable of
analysis. The constructive or combining power, by which
ingenuity is usually manifested, and to which the phrenolo-
gists (I believe erroneously) have assigned a separate organ,
supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so frequently seen
in those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy, as
to have attracted general observation among writers on
morals. Between ingenuity and the analytic ability there
exists a difference far greater, indeed, than that between the
fancy and the imagination, but of a character very strictly
analogous. It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are
always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise
than analytic.
The narrative which follows will appear to the reader
somewhat in the light of a commentary upon the propositions
just advanced.
Residing in Paris during the spring and part of the sum-
mer of 18, I there became acquainted with a Monsieur C
Auguste Dupin. This young gentleman was of an excellent,
indeed of an illustrious family, but, by a variety of untoward
events, had been reduced to such poverty that the energy of
his character succumbed beneath it, and he ceased to bestir
himself in the world, or to care for the retrieval of his for-
tunes. By courtesy of his creditors, there still remained
in his possession a small remnant of his patrimony; and,
upon the income arising from this, he managed, by means
of a rigorous economy, to procure the necessaries of life,
without troubling. himself about its superfluities. Books,
indeed, were his sole luxuries, and in Paris these are easily
obtained.
Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the Rue
Montmartre, where the accident of our both being in search
of the same very rare and very remarkable volume, brought
us into closer communion. We saw each other again and
again. I was deeply interested in the little family history
which he detailed to me with all that candor which a French-
man indulges whenever mere self is the theme. I was aston-
ished, too, at the vast extent of his reading; and, above all,
I felt my soul enkindled within me by the wild fervor, and


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
the vivid freshness of his imagination. Seeking in Paris the
objects I then sought, I felt that the society of such a man
would be to me a treasure beyond price; and this feeling
I frankly confided to him. It was at length arranged that
we should live together during my stay in the city; and as
my worldly circumstances were somewhat less embarrassed
than his own, I was permitted to be at the expense of rent-
ing, and furnishing in a style which suited the rather fan-
tastic gloom of our common temper, a time-eaten and gro-
tesque mansion, long deserted through superstitions into
which we did not inquire, and tottering to its fall in a re.
tired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.
Had the routine of our life at this place been known to
the world, we should have been regarded as madmen-al.
though, perhaps, as madmen of a harmless nature. Our
seclusion was perfect. We admitted no visitors. Indeed,
the locality of our retirement had been carefully kept a
secret from my own former associates; and it had been many
years since Dupin had ceased to know or be known in Paris,
We existed within ourselves alone.
It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall
I call it?) to be enamored of the night for her own sake;
and into this bizarrerie, as into all his others, I quietly fell;
giving myself up to his wild whims with a perfect abandon.
The sable divinity would not herself dwell with us always;
but we could counterfeit her presence. At the first dawn
of the morning we closed all the massy shutters of our old
building; lighted a couple of tapers which, strongly per-
fumed, threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of rays.
By the aid of these we then busied our souls in dreams-
reading, writing, or conversing, until warned by the clock
of the advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forth
into the streets, arm in arm, continuing the topics of the
day, or roaming far and wide until a late hour, seeking,
amid the wild lights and shadows of the populous city,
that infinity of mental excitement which quiet observation
can afford.
At such times I could not help remarking and admiring
(although from his rich ideality I had been prepared to ex-


EDGAR ALLAN POE
pect it) a peculiar analytic ability in Dupin. He seemed,
too, to take an eager delight in its exercise-if not exactly
in its display-and did not hesitate to confess the pleasure
thus derived. He boasted to me, with a low chuckling
laugh, that most men, in respect to himself, wore windows
in their bosoms, and was wont to follow up such assertions
by direct and very startling proofs of his intimate knowledge
of my own. His manner at these moments was frigid and
abstract; his eyes were vacant in expression; while his
voice, usually a rich tenor, rose into a treble which would
have sounded petulant but for the deliberateness and entire
distinctness of the enunciation. Observing him in these
moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the old philosophy
of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with the fancy of
a double Dupin-the creative and the resolvent.
Let it not be supposed, from what I have just said, that
I am detailing any mystery, or penning any romance. What
I have described in the Frenchman was merely the result
of an excited, or perhaps of a diseased, intelligence. But of
the character of his remarks at the periods in question an
example will best convey the idea.
We were strolling one night down a long dirty street, in
the vicinity of the Palais Royal. Being both, apparently,
occupied with thought, neither of us had spoken a syllable
for fifteen minutes at least. All at once Dupin broke forth
with these words:
“He is a very little fellow, that's true, and would do bet-
ter for the Théâtre Variétés."
"There can be no doubt of that,” I replied, unwittingly,
and not at first observing (so much had I been absorbed
in reflection) the extraordinary manner in which the speaker
had chimed in with my meditations. In an instant after-
ward I recollected myself, and my astonishment was pro.
found.
"Dupin," said I, gravely, “this is beyond my comprehen-
sion. I do not hesitate to say that I am amazed, and can
scarcely credit my senses. How was it possible you should
know that I was thinking of—?" Here I paused, to ascertain
beyond a doubt whether he really knew of whom I thought.
IO


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
“_ of Chantilly,” said he, "why do you pause? You
were remarking to yourself that his diminutive figure un-
fitted him for tragedy."
This was precisely what had formed the subject of my
reflections. Chantilly was a quondam cobbler of the Rue
St. Dennis, who, becoming stage-mad, had attempted the
rôle of Xerxes, in Crébillon's tragedy so called, and been
notoriously Pasquinaded for his pains.
"Tell me, for Heaven's sake," I exclaimed, “the method
-if method there is—by which you have been enabled to
fathom my soul in this matter." In fact, I was even more
startled than I would have been willing to express.
"It was the fruiterer,” replied my friend, "who brought
you to the conclusion that the mender of soles was not of
sufficient height for Xerxes et id genus omne.”
“The fruiterer!—you astonish me-I know no fruiterer
whomsoever."
“The man who ran up against you as we entered the
street-it may have been fifteen minutes ago.”
I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer, carrying
upon his head a large basket of apples, had nearly thrown
me down, by accident, as we passed from the Rue C-
into the thoroughfare where we stood; but what this had
to do with Chantilly I could not possibly understand.
There was not a particle of charlatânerie about Dupin.
“I will explain,” he said, "and that you may comprehend
all clearly, we will first retrace the course of your medita-
tions, from the moment in which I spoke to you until that
of the recontre with the fruiterer in question. The larger
links of the chain run thus—Chantilly, Orion, Dr. Nichols,
Epicurus, Stereotomy, the street stones, the fruiterer."
There are few persons who have not, at some period of
their lives, amused themselves in retracing the steps by
which particular conclusions of their own minds have been
attained. The occupation is often full of interest; and he
who attempts it for the first time is astonished by the ap-
parently illimitable distance and incoherence between the
starting-point and the goal. What, then, must have been my
amazement, when I heard the Frenchman speak what he had
II


EDGAR ALLAN POE
just spoken, and when I could not help acknowledging that
he had spoken the truth. He continued:
“We had been talking of horses, if I remember aright,
just before leaving the Rue C- This was the last sub-
ject we discussed. As we crossed into this street, a fruiterer,
with a large basket upon his head, brushing quickly past us,
thrust you upon a pile of paving-stones collected at a spot
where the causeway is undergoing repair. You stepped upon
one of the loose fragments, slipped, slightly strained your
ankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered a few words, turned
to look at the pile, and then proceeded in silence. I was not
particularly attentive to what you did; but observation has
become with me, of late, a species of necessity.
“You kept your eyes upon the ground-glancing, with a
petulant expression, at the holes and ruts in the pavement
(so that I saw you were still thinking of the stones), until
we reached the little alley called Lamartine, which has been
paved, by way of experiment, with the overlapping and riv-
eted blocks. Here your countenance brightened up, and,
perceiving your lips move, I could not doubt that you mur-
mured the word 'stereotomy,' a term very affectedly applied
to this species of pavement. I knew that you could not
say to yourself 'stereotomy' without being brought to think
of atomies, and thus of the theories of Epicurus; and since,
when we discussed this subject not very long ago, I men-
tioned to you how singularly, yet with how little notice, the
vague guesses of that noble Greek had met with confirma-
tion in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt that you could
not avoid casting your eyes upward to the great nebula in
Orion, and I certainly expected that you would do so. You
did look up; and I was now assured that I had correctly
followed your steps. But in that bitter tirade upon Chan-
tilly, which appeared in yesterday's 'Musée,' the satirist,
making some disgraceful allusions to the cobbler's change
of name upon assuming the buskin, quoted a Latin line
about which we have often conversed. I mean the line
Perdidit antiquum litera prima sonum.
I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, formerly
written Urion; and, from certain pungencies connected with
12


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
this explanation, I was aware that you could not have for.
gotten it. It was clear, therefore, that you would not fail
to combine the two ideas of Orion and Chantilly. That
you did combine them I saw by the character of the smile
which passed over your lips. You thought of the poor cob-
bler's immolation. So far, you had been stooping in your
gait; but now I saw you draw yourself up to your full
height. I was then sure that you reflected upon the dimin-
utive figure of Chantilly. At this point I interrupted your
meditations to remark that as, in fact, he was a very little
fellow-that Chantilly-he would do better at the Théâtre
des Variétés."
Not long after this, we were looking over an evening
edition of the “Gazette des Tribunaux,” when the following
paragraphs arrested our attention.
“ Extraordinary Murder .-This morning, about three
o'clock, the inhabitants of the Quartier St. Roch were roused
from sleep by a succession of terrific shrieks, issuing, appar-
ently, from the fourth story of a house in the Rue Morgue,
known to be in the sole occupancy of one Madame L'Espa-
naye, and her daughter, Mademoiselle Camille L'Espanaye.
After some delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to pro-
cure admission in the usual manner, the gateway was broken
in with a crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighbors entered,
accompanied by two gendarmes. By this time the cries had
ceased; but, as the party rushed up the first flight of stairs,
two or more rough voices, in angry contention, were dis-
tinguished, and seemed to proceed from the upper part of the
house. As the second landing was reached, these sounds,
also, had ceased, and everything remained perfectly quiet.
The party spread themselves, and hurried from room to
room. Upon arriving at a large back chamber in the fourth
story (the door of which, being found locked, with the key
inside, was forced open), a spectacle presented itself which
struck every one present not less with horror than with
astonishment.
"The apartment was in the wildest disorder--the furni-
ture broken and thrown about in all directions. There was
only one bedstead; and from this the bed had been removed,


EDGAR ALLAN POE
and thrown into the middle of the floor. On a chair lay a
razor, besmeared with blood. On the hearth were two or
three long and thick tresses of gray human hair, also dab-
bled with blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by the
roots. Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, an ear-
ring of topaz, three large silver spoons, three smaller of
métal d'Alger, and two bags, containing nearly four thou-
sand francs in gold. The drawers of a bureau, which stood
in one corner, were open, and had been, apparently, rifled,
although many articles still remained in them. A small
iron safe was discovered under the bed (not under the bed.
stead). It was open, with the key still in the door. It had
no contents beyond a few old letters, and other papers of
little consequence.
"Of Madame L'Espanaye no traces were here seen; but
an unusual quantity of soot being observed in the fireplace,
a search was made in the chimney, and (horrible to relate!)
the corpse of the daughter, head downward, was dragged
therefrom; it having been thus forced up the narrow aper-
ture for a considerable distance. The body was quite warm.
Upon examining it, many excoriations were perceived, no
doubt occasioned by the violence with which it had been
thrust up and disengaged. Upon the face were many severe
scratches, and, upon the throat, dark bruises, and deep inden-
tations of finger nails, as if the deceased had been throt-
tled to death.
“After a thorough investigation of every portion of the
house without further discovery, the party made its way
into a small paved yard in the rear of the building, where
lay the corpse of the old lady, with her throat so entirely
cut that, upon an attempt to raise her, the head fell off.
The body, as well as the head, was fearfully mutilated-
the former so much so as scarcely to retain any semblance
of humanity.
“To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we believe,
the slightest clue."
The next day's paper had these additional particulars:
“ The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue.-Many individuals
have been examined in relation to this most extraordinary
14


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
and frightful affair" [the word “affaire” has not yet, in
France, that levity of import which it conveys with us),
"but nothing whatever has transpired to throw light upon
it. We give below all the material testimony elicited.
"Pauline Dubourg, laundress, deposes that she has known
both the deceased for three years, having washed for them
during that period. The old lady and her daughter seemed
on good terms-very affectionate toward each other. They
were excellent pay. Could not speak in regard to their mode
or means of living. Believed that Madame L, told fortunes
for a living. Was reputed to have money put by. Never
met any person in the house when she called for the clothes
or took them home. Was sure that they had no servant in
employ. There appeared to be no furniture in any part of
the building except in the fourth story.
“Pierre Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that he has been in
the habit of selling small quantities of tobacco and snuff to
Madame L'Espanaye for nearly four years. Was born in the
neighborhood, and has always resided there. The deceased
and her daughter had occupied the house in which the
corpses were found for more than six years. It was for-
merly occupied by a jeweler, who under-let the upper rooms
to various persons. The house was the property of Madame
L. She became dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises
by her tenant, and moved into them herself, refusing to let
any portion. The old lady was childish. Witness had seen
the daughter some five or six times during the six years.
The two lived an exceedingly retired life-were reputed to
have money. Had heard it said among the neighbors that
Madame L. told fortunes-did not believe it. Had never
seen any person enter the door except the old lady and
her daughter, a porter once or twice, and a physician some
eight or ten times.
“Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to the
same effect. No one was spoken of as frequenting the
house. It was not known whether there were any living
connections of Madame L. and her daughter. The shutters
of the front windows were seldom opened. Those in the
rear were always closed, with the exception of the large
15


EDGAR ALLAN POE
back room, fourth story. The house was a good house-
not very old.
“ Isidore Muset, gendarme, deposes that he was called
to the house about three o'clock in the morning, and found
some twenty or thirty persons at the gateway, endeavoring
to gain admittance. Forced it open, at length, with a bay-
onet-not with a crowbar. Had but little difficulty in get-
ting it open, on acount of its being a double or folding gate,
and bolted neither at bottom nor top. The shrieks were
continued until the gate was forced-and then suddenly
ceased. They seemed to be screams of some person (or per-
sons) in great agony-were loud and drawn out, not short
and quick. Witness led the way upstairs. Upon reaching
the first landing, heard two voices in loud and angry con-
tention—the one a gruff voice, the other much shriller-a
very strange voice. Could distinguish some words of the
former, which was that of a Frenchman. Was positive that
it was not a woman's voice. Could distinguish the words
'sacre' and 'diable.' The shrill voice was that of a foreigner.
Could not be sure whether it was the voice of a man or of
a woman. Could not make out what was said, but believed
the language to be Spanish. The state of the room and of
the bodies was described by this witness as we described
them yesterday.
“Henri Duval, a neighbor, and by trade a silversmith,
deposes that he was one of the party who first entered the
house. Corroborates the testimony of Musèt in general. As
soon as they forced an entrance, they reclosed the door, to
keep out the crowd, which collected very fast, notwithstand-
ing the lateness of the hour. The shrill voice, this witness
thinks, was that of an Italian. Was certain it was not
French. Could not be sure that it was a man's voice. It
might have been a woman's. Was not acquainted with the
Italian language. Could not distinguish the words, but was
convinced by the intonation that the speaker was an Italian,
Knew Madame L. and her daughter. Had conversed with
both frequently. Was sure that the shrill voice was not
that of either of the deceased.
"_-Odenheimer, restaurateur.-This witness volunteered
16


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
his testimony. Not speaking French, was examined through
an interpreter. Is a native of Amsterdam. Was passing the
house at the time of the shrieks. They lasted for several
minutes—probably ten. They were long and loud-very
awful and distressing. Was one of those who entered the
building. Corroborated the previous evidence in every re-
spect but one. Was sure that the shrill voice was that of a
man-of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish the words
uttered. They were loud and quick-unequal-spoken appar-
ently in fear as well as in anger. The voice was harsh-
not so much shrill as harsh. Could not call it a shrill voice.
The gruff voice said repeatedly, 'sacre,' 'diable,' and once
mon Dieu.'
" Jules Mignaud, banker, of the firm of Mignaud et Fils,
Rue Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud. Madame L'Espanaye
had some property. Had opened an account with his bank-
ing house in the spring of the year-(eight years previously).
Made frequent deposits in small sums. Had checked for
nothing until the third day before her death, when she took
out in person the sum of 4,000 francs. This sum was paid
in gold, and a clerk sent home with the money.
“Adolphe Le Bon, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, deposes that
on the day in question, about noon, he accompanied Madame
L'Espanaye to her residence with the 4,000 francs, put up in
two bags. Upon the door being opened, Mademoiselle L.
appeared and took from his hands one of the bags, while the
old lady relieved him of the other. He then bowed and
departed. Did not see any person in the street at the time.
It is a by-street-very lonely.
“William Bird, tailor, deposes that he was one of the
party who entered the house. Is an Englishman. Has lived
in Paris two years. Was one of the first to ascend the
stairs. Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice was
that of a Frenchman. Could make out several words, but
can not now remember all. Heard distinctly 'sacre' and 'mon
Dieu.' There was a sound at the moment as if of several
persons struggling-a scraping and scuffling sound. The
shrill voice was very loud-louder than the gruff one. Is
sure that it was not the voice of an Englishman. Appeared
17


EDGAR ALLAN POE
to be that of a German. Might have been a woman's voice.
Does not understand German.
"Four of the above-named witnesses being recalled, de-
posed that the door of the chamber in which was found the
body of Mademoiselle L. was locked on the inside when
the party reached it. Everything was perfectly silent-no
groans or noises of any kind. Upon forcing the door no
person was seen. The windows, both of the back and front
room, were down and firmly fastened from within. A door
between the two rooms was closed but not locked. The
door leading from the front room into the passage was
locked, with the key on the inside. A small room in the
front of the house, on the fourth story, at the head of the
passage, was open, the door being ajar. This room was
crowded with old beds, boxes, and so forth. These were
carefully removed and searched. There was not an inch of
any portion of the house which was not carefully searched.
Sweeps were sent up and down the chimneys. The house
was a four-story one, with garrets (mansardes). A trap-
door on the roof was nailed down very securely-did not
appear to have been opened for years. The time elapsing
between the hearing of the voices in contention and the
breaking open of the room door was variously stated by the
witnesses. Some made it as short as three minutes-some
as long as five. The door was opened with difficulty.
“ Alfonzo Garco, undertaker, deposes that he resides in the
Rue Morgue. Is a native of Spain. Was one of the party
who entered the house. Did not proceed upstairs. Is ner-
vous, and was apprehensive of the consequences of agitation.
Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice was that
of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish what was said. The
shrill voice was that of an Englishman-is sure of this. Does
not understand the English language, but judges by the
intonation.
“Alfonzo Garcio, undertaker, deposes that he was among
the first to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in question.
The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Distinguished sev.
eral words. The speaker appeared to be expostulating.
Could not make out the words of the shrill voice. Spoke
18


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
quick and unevenly. Thinks it the voice of a Russian. Cor-
roborates the general testimony. Is an Italian. Never con-
versed with a native of Russia.
"Several witness, recalled, here testified that the chim-
neys of all the rooms on the fourth story were too narrow to
admit the passage of a human being. By 'sweeps,' were
meant cylindrical sweeping-brushes, such as are employed
by those who clean chimneys. These brushes were passed
up and down every Alue in the house. There is no back pas-
sage by which any one could have descended while the party
proceeded upstairs. The body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye
was so firmly wedged in the chimney that it could not be got
down until four or five of the party united their strength
“Paul Dumas, physician, deposes that he was called to view
the bodies about daybreak. They were both then lying on
the sacking of the bedstead in the chamber where Mademoi-
selle L. was found. The corpse of the young lady was much
bruised and excoriated. The fact that it had been thrust up
the chimney would sufficiently account for these appearances.
The throat was greatly chafed. There were several deep
scratches just below the chin, together with a series of livid
spots which were evidently the impression of fingers. The
face was fearfully discolored, and the eyeballs protruded.
The tongue had been partially bitten through. A large bruise
was discovered upon the pit of the stomach, produced, ap-
parently, by the pressure of a knee. In the opinion of M.
Dumas, Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been throttled to
death by some person or persons unknown. The corpse of
the mother was horribly mutilated. All the bones of the right
leg and ar were more or less shattered. The left tibia much
splintered, as well as all the ribs of the left side. Whole
body dreadfully bruised and discolored. It was not possible
to say how the injuries had been inflicted. A heavy club of
wood, or a broad bar of iron—a chair-any large, heavy, and
obtuse weapon would have produced such results, if wielded
by the hands of a very powerful man. No woman could have
inflicted the blows with any weapon. The head of the de-
ceased, when seen by witness, was entirely separated from
the body, and was also greatly shattered. The throat had
19


EDGAR ALLAN POE
evidently been cut with some very sharp instrument-prob
ably with a razor.
“ Alexandre Etienne, surgeon, was called with M. Dumas
to view the bodies. Corroborated the testimony, and the
opinions of M. Dumas.
"Nothing further of importance was elicited, although sev-
eral other persons were examined. A murder so mysterious,
and so perplexing in all its particulars, was never before com-
mitted in Paris—if indeed a murder has been committed at
all. The police are entirely at fault-an unusual occurrence
in affairs of this nature. There is not, however, the shadow
of a clue apparent."
The evening edition of the paper stated that the greatest
excitement still continued in the Quartier St. Roch-that the
premises in question had been carefully researched, and fresh
examinations of witnesses instituted, but all to no purpose.
A postscript, however, mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had
been arrested and imprisoned-although nothing appeared to
criminate him beyond the facts already detailed.
Dupin seemed singularly interested in the progress of this
affair—at least so I judged from his manner, for he made no
comments. It was only after the announcement that Le Bon
had been imprisoned, that he asked me my opinion respecting
the murders.
I could merely agree with all Paris in considering them
an insoluble mystery. I saw no means by which it would be
possible to trace the murderer.
“We must not judge of the means," said Dupin, "by this
shell of an examination. The Parisian police, so much extolled
for acumen, are cunning, but no more. There is no method
in their proceedings, beyond the method of the moment.
They make a vast parade of measures; but, not infrequently,
these are so ill-adapted to the objects proposed, as to put us
in mind of Monsieur Jourdain's calling for his robe-de-cham-
bre— pour mieux entendre la musique. The results attained by
them are not infrequently surprising, but, for the most part,
are brought about by simple diligence and activity. When
these qualities are unavailing, their schemes fail. Vidocq, for
example, was a good guesser, and a persevering man. But,
20


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
without educated thought, he erred continually by the very
intensity at his investigations. He impaired his vision by
holding the object too close. He might see, perhaps, one or
two points with unusual clearness, but in so doing he, neces-
sarily, lost sight of the matter as a whole. Thus there is such
a thing as being too profound. Truth is not always in a well.
In fact, as regards the more important knowledge, I do be-
lieve that she is invariably superficial. The depth lies in the
valleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-tops
where she is found. The modes and sources of this kind of
error are well typified in the contemplation of the heavenly
bodies. To look at a star by glances—to view it in a sidelong
way, by turning toward it the exterior portions of the retina
(more susceptible of feeble impressions of light than the in-
terior), is to behold the star distinctly-is to have the best
appreciation of its lustre-a lustre which grows dim just in
proportion as we turn our vision fully upon it. A greater
number of rays actually fall upon the eye in the latter case,
but in the former, there is the more refined capacity for com-
prehension. By undue profundity we perplex and enfeeble
thought; and it is possible to make even Venus herself vanish
from the firmament by a scrutiny too sustained, too con-
centrated, or too direct.
“As for these murders, let us enter into some examinations
for ourselves, before we make up an opinion respecting them.
An inquiry will afford us amusement" [I thought this an odd
term, so applied, but said nothing], "and besides, Le Bon
once rendered me a service for which I am not ungrateful.
We will go and see the premises with our own eyes. I know
G- , the Prefect of Police, and shall have no difficulty in
obtaining the necessary permission."
The permission was obtained, and we proceeded at once to
the Rue Morgue. This is one of those miserable thorough-
fares which intervene between the Rue Richelieu and the Rue
St. Roch. It was late in the afternoon when we reached it,
as this quarter is at a great distance from that in which we
resided. The house was readily found; for there were still
many persons gazing up at the closed shutters, with an ob-
jectless curiosity, from the opposite side of the way. It was
21


EDGAR ALLAN POE
an ordinary Parisian house, with a gateway, on one side
of which was a glazed watch-box, with a sliding panel in the
window, indicating a loge de concierge. Before going in we
walked up the street, turned down an alley, and then, again
turning, passed in the rear of the building-Dupin, mean-
while, examining the whole neighborhood, as well as the
house, with a minuteness of attention for which I could see
no possible object.
Retracing our steps we came again to the front of the dwell-
ing, rang, and, having shown our credentials, were admitted
by the agents in charge. We went upstairs-into the cham-
ber where the body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been
found, and where both the deceased still lay. The disorders
of the room had, as usual, been suffered to exist. I saw noth-
ing beyond what had been stated in the “Gazette des Tribu-
naux.” Dupin scrutinized everything—not excepting the
bodies of the victims. We then went into the other rooms,
and into the yard; a gendarme accompanying us throughout.
The examination occupied us until dark, when we took our
departure. On our way home my companion stepped in for a
moment at the office of one of the daily papers.
I have said that the whims of my friend were manifold,
and that Je les menagais :-for this phrase there is no English
equivalent. It was his humor, now, to decline all conversa-
tion on the subject of the murder, until about noon the next
day. He then asked me, suddenly, if I had observed anything
peculiar at the scene of the atrocity.
There was something in his manner of emphasizing the
word "peculiar," which caused me to shudder, without know-
ing why.
"No, nothing peculiar," I said; "nothing more, at least,
than we both saw stated in the paper."
“The 'Gazette'," he replied, “has not entered, I fear, into
the unusual horror of the thing. But dismiss the idle opin-
ions of this print. It appears to me that this mystery is con-
sidered insoluble, for the very reason which should cause it
to be regarded as easy of solution-I mean for the outre char-
acter of its features. The police are confounded by the
seeming absence of motive-not for the murder itself-but
22


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
for the atrocity of the murder. They are puzzled, too, by
the seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices heard in
contention, with the facts that no one was discovered up-
stairs but the assassinated Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and
that there were no means of egress without the notice of the
party ascending. The wild disorder of the room; the corpse
thrust, with the head downward, up the chimney; the frightful
mutilation of the body of the old lady; these considerations,
with those just mentioned, and others which I need not men-
tion, have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by putting com-
pletely at fault the boasted acumen, of the government agents.
They have fallen into the gross but common error of con-
founding the unusual with the abstruse. But it is by these
deviations from the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels
its way, if at all, in its search for the true. In investigations
such as we are now pursuing, it should not be so much asked
'what has occurred?' as 'what has occurred that has never
occurred before?' In fact, the facility with which I shall
arrive, or have arrived, at the solution of this mystery, is in
the direct ratio of its apparent insolubility in the eyes of the
police.'
I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.
"I am now awaiting,” continued he, looking toward the
door of our apartment_“I am now awaiting a person who,
although perhaps not the perpetrator of these butcheries,
must have been in some measure implicated in their perpe-
tration. Of the worst portion of the crimes committed, it is
probable that he is innocent. I hope that I am right in this
supposition; for upon it I build my expectation of reading the
entire riddle. I look for the man here-in this room-every
moment. It is true that he may not arrive; but the prob-
ability is that he will. Should he come, it will be necessary
to detain him. Here are pistols; and we both know how
to use them when occasion demands their use."
I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, or believ-
ing what I heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if in a
soliloquy. I have already spoken of his abstract manner at
such times. His discourse was addressed to myself; but
his voice, although by no means loud, had that intonation
23


EDGAR ALLAN POE
which is commonly employed in speaking to some one at a
great distance. His eyes, vacant in expression, regarded only
the wall.
“That the voices heard in contention,” he said, "by the
party upon the stairs, were not the voices of the women them-
selves, was fully proved by the evidence. This relieves us
of all doubt upon the question whether the old lady could
have first destroyed the daughter, and afterward have com-
mitted suicide. I speak of this point chiefly for the sake of
method; for the strength of Madame L'Espanaye would have
been utterly unequal to the task of thrusting her daughter's
corpse up the chimney as it was found; and the nature of the
wounds upon her own person entirely precludes the idea of
self-destruction. Murder, then, has been committed by some
third party; and the voices of this third party were those
heard in contention. Let me now advert-not to the whole
testimony respecting these voices—but to what was peculiar
in that testimony. Did you observe anything peculiar
about it?"
I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in suppos-
ing the gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there was
much disagreement in regard to the shrill, or, as one indi-
vidual termed it, the harsh voice.
“That was the evidence itself,” said Dupin, “but it was not
the peculiarity of the evidence. You have observed nothing
distinctive. Yet there was something to be observed. The
witnesses, as you remark, agreed about the gruff voice; they
were here unanimous. But in regard to the shrill voice, the
peculiarity is not that they disagreed—but that, while an
Italian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Hollander, and a
Frenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke of it
as that of a foreigner. Each is sure that it was not the voice
of one of his own countrymen. Each likens it-not to the
voice of an individual of any nation with whose language
he is conversant-but the converse. The Frenchman sup-
poses it the voice of a Spaniard, and 'might have distinguished
some words had he been acquainted with the Spanish. The
Dutchman maintains it to have been that of a Frenchman;
but we find it stated that 'not understanding French this wit-
24


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
nests was examined through an interpreter.' The Englishman
thinks it the voice of a German, and does not understand Ger-
man. The Spaniard 'is sure that it was that of an English-
man, but 'judges by the intonation' altogether, 'as he has no
knowledge of the English.' The Italian believes it the voice
of a Russian, but 'has never conversed with a native of Rus-
sia.' A second Frenchman differs, moreover, with the first,
and is positive that the voice was that of an Italian; but, not
being cognizant of that tongue, is, like the Spaniard, 'con-
vinced by the intonation. Now, how strangely unusual must
that voice have really been, about which such testimony as
this could have been elicited!-in whose tones, even, denizens
of the five great divisions of Europe could recognize nothing
familiar! You will say that it might have been the voice
of an Asiatic-of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans
abound in Paris; but, without denying the inference, I will
now merely call your attention to three points. The voice
is termed by one witness ‘harsh rather than shrill.' It is
represented by two others to have been 'quick and unequal.'
No words-no sounds resembling words-were by any witness
mentioned as distinguishable.
"I know not," continued Dupin, "what impression I may
have made, so far, upon your own understanding; but I do
not hesitate to say that legitimate deductions even from this
portion of the testimony—the portion respecting the gruff
and shrill voices—are in themselves sufficient to engender a
suspicion which should give direction to all further progress
in the investigation of the mystery. I said 'legitimate deduc-
tions'; but my meaning is not thus fully expressed. I de-
signed to imply that the deductions are the sole proper ones,
and that the suspicion arises inevitably from them as the
single result. What the suspicion is, however, I will not say
just yet. I merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself,
it was sufficiently forcible to give a definite form-a certain
tendency to my inquiries in the chamber.
"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this cham-
ber. What shall we first seek here? The means of egress
employed by the murderers. It is not too much to say that
neither of us believes in preternatural events. Madame and
Vol. 1
25


EDGAR ALLAN POE
Mademoiselle L'Espanaye were not destroyed by spirits.
The doers of the deed were material and escaped materially.
Then how? Fortunately there is but one mode of reasoning
upon the point, and that mode must lead us to a definite
decision. Let us examine, each by each, the possible means
of egress. It is clear that the assassins were in the room
where Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was found, or at least in
the room adjoining, when the party ascended the stairs. It
is, then, only from these two apartments that we have to
seek issues. The police have laid bare the floors, the ceiling,
and the masonry of the walls, in every direction. No secret
issues could have escaped their vigilance. But, not trusting
to their eyes, I examined with my own. There were, then,
no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms into
the passage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let
us turn to the chimneys. These, although of ordinary width
for some eight or ten feet above the hearths, will not admit,
throughout their extent, the body of a large cat. The im-
possibility of egress, by means already stated, being thus
absolute, we are reduced to the windows. Through those
of the front room no one could have escaped without notice
from the crowd in the street. The murderers must have
passed, then, through those of the back room. Now, brought
to this conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it
is not our part, as reasoners, to reject it on account of ap-
parent impossibilities. It is only left for us to prove that
these apparent 'impossibilities' are, in reality, not such.
“There are two windows in the chamber. One of them
is unobstructed by furniture, and is wholly visible. The
lower portion of the other is hidden from view by the head
of the unwieldy bedstead which is thrust close up against it.
The former was found securely fastened from within. It
resisted the utmost force of those who endeavored to raise
it. A large gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to the
left, and a very stout nail was found fitted therein, nearly
to the head. Upon examining the other window, a similar
nail was seen similarly fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt
to raise this sash failed also. The police were now entirely
satisfied that egress had not been in these directions. And,
26


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
therefore, it was thought a matter of supererogation to
withdraw the nails and open the windows.
"My own examination was somewhat more particular,
and was so for the reason I have just given-because here
it was, I knew, that all apparent impossibilities must be
proved to be not such in reality.
"I proceeded to think thus—a posteriori. The murderers
did escape from one of these windows. This being so, they
could not have refastened the sashes from the inside, as they
were found fastened;—the consideration which put a stop,
through its obviousness, to the scrutiny of the police in this
quarter. Yet the sashes were fastened. They must, then,
have the power of fastening themselves. There was no
escape from this conclusion. I stepped to the unobstructed
casement, withdrew the nail with some difficulty, and at.
tempted to raise the sash. It resisted all my efforts, as I
had anticipated. A concealed spring must, I now knew,
exist; and this corroboration of my idea convinced me that
my premises, at least, were correct, however mysterious still
appeared the circumstances attending the nails. A careful
search soon brought to light the hidden spring. I pressed
it, and, satisfied with the discovery, forbore to upraise the
sash.
“I now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively. A
person passing out through this window might have reclosed
it, and the spring would have caught--but the nail could
not have been replaced. The conclusion was plain, and
again narrowed in the field of my investigations. The as-
sassins must have escaped through the other window. Sup.
posing, then, the springs upon each sash to be the same, as
was probable, there must be found a difference between the
nails, or at least between the modes of their fixture. Get-
ting upon the sacking of the bedstead, I looked over the
head-board minutely at the second casement. Passing my
hand down behind the board, I readily discovered and pressed
the spring, which was, as I had supposed, identical in char-
acter with its neighbor. I now looked at the nail. It was
as stout as the other, and apparently fitted in the same man-
ner-driven in nearly up to the head.


EDGAR ALLAN POE
“You will say that I was puzzled; but, if you think so,
you must have misunderstood the nature of the inductions,
To use a sporting phrase, I had not been once 'at fault.'
The scent had never for an instant been lost. There was no
flaw in any link of the chain. I had traced the secret to its
ultimate result-and that result was the nail. It had, I say,
in every respect, the appearance of its fellow in the other
window; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive
as it might seem to be) when compared with the considera-
tion that here, at this point, teminated the clue. 'There
must be something wrong,' I said, 'about the nail.' I touched
it; and the head, with about a quarter of an inch of the
shank, came off in my fingers. The rest of the shank was in
the gimlet-hole, where it had been broken off. The fracture
was an old one (for its edges were incrustd with rust), and
had apparently been accomplished by the blow of a hammer,
which had partially embedded, in the top of the bottom sash,
the head portion of the nail. I now carefully replaced this
head portion in the indentation whence I had taken it, and
the resemblance to a perfect nail was complete-the fissure
was invisible. Pressing the spring, I gently raised the sash
for a few inches; the head went up with it, remaining firm
in its bed. I closed the window, and the semblance of the
whole nail was again perfect.
“This riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The assassin
had escaped through the window which looked upon the bed.
Dropping of its own accord upon his exit (or perhaps pur-
posely closed), it had become fastened by the spring; and it
was the retention of this spring which had been mistaken
by the police for that of the nail—further inquiry being thus
considered unnecessary.
“The next question is that of the mode of descent. Upon
this point I had been satisfied in my walk with you around the
building. About five feet and a half from the casement in
question there runs a lightning-rod. From this rod it would
have been impossible for any one to reach the window itself,
to say nothing of entering it. I observed, however, that
the shutters of the fourth story were of the peculiar kind
called by Parisian carpenters ferrades—a kind rarely em-
28


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
ployed at the present day, but frequently seen upon very
old mansions at Lyons and Bordeaux. They are in the form
of an ordinary door (a single, not a folding door), except
that the lower half is latticed or worked in open trellis-
thus affording an excellent hold for the hands. In the pres-
ent instance these shutters are fully three feet and a half
broad. When we saw them from the rear of the house, they
were both about half open--that is to say, they stood off at
right angles from the wall. It is probable that the police,
as well as myself, examined the back of the tenement; but,
if so, in looking at these ferrades in the line of their breadth
(as they must have done), they did not perceive this great
breadth itself, or, at all events, failed to take it into due con-
sideration. In fact, having once satisfied themselves that
no egress could have been made in this quarter, they would
naturally bestow here a very cursory examination. It was
clear to me, however, that the shutter belonging to the win-
dow at the head of the bed would, if swung fully back to
the wall, reach to within two feet of the lightning-rod. It
was also evident that, by exertion of a very unusual degree
of activity and courage, an entrance into the window, from
the rod, might have been thus effected. By reaching to the
distance of two feet and a half (we now suppose the shutter
open to its whole extent) a robber might have taken a firm
grasp upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold upon
the rod, placing his feet securely against the wall, and
springing boldly from it, he might have swung the shutter
so as to close it, and, if we imagine the window open at
the time, might even have swung himself into the room.
“I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have spoken
of a very unusual degree of activity as requisite to success
in so hazardous and so difficult a feat. It is my design to
show you, first, that the thing might possibly have been
accomplished:-but, secondly and chiefly, I wish to impress
upon your understanding the very extraordinary—the almost
preternatural character of that agility which could have
accomplished it.
“You will say, no doubt, using the language of the law,
that 'to make out my case,' I should rather undervalue than
29


EDGAR ALLAN POE
interior"anner, at ththe ide
insist upon a full estimation of the activity required in this
matter. This may be the practise in law, but it is not the
usage of reason. My ultimate object is only the truth. My
immediate purpose is to lead you to place in juxtaposition,
that very unusual activity of which I have just spoken, with
that very peculiar shrill (or harsh) and unequal voice, about
whose nationality no two persons could be found to agree,
and in whose utterance no syllabification could be detected.”
At these words a vague and half-formed conception of
the meaning of Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed to
be upon the verge of comprehension, without power to com-
prehend-as men, at times, find themselves upon the brink
of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remem-
ber. My friend went on with his discourse.
“You will see," he said, “that I have shifted the question
from the mode of egress to that of ingress. It was my
design to convey the idea that both were effected in the
same manner, at the same point. Let us now revert to the
interior of the room. Let us survey the appearances here.
The drawers of the bureau, it is said, had been rifled, al-
though many articles of apparel still remained within them.
The conclusion here is absurd. It is a mere guess-a very
silly one-and no more. How are we to know that the
articles found in the drawers were not all these drawers
had originally contained? Madame L'Espanaye and her
daughter lived an exceedingly retired life-saw no company
-seldom went out—had little use for numerous changes of
habiliment. Those found were at least of as good quality
as any likely to be possessed by these ladies. If a thief had
taken any, why did he not take the best-why did he not
take all? In a word, why did he abandon four thousand
francs in gold to encumber himself with a bundle of linen?
The gold was abandoned. Nearly the whole sum mentioned
by Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was discovered, in bags,
upon the floor. I wish you, therefore, to discard from your
thoughts the blundering idea of motive, engendered in the
brains of the police by that portion of the evidence which
speaks of money delivered at the door of the house. Coin-
cidences ten times as remarkable as this (the delivery of the
30


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
money, and murder committed within three days upon the
party receiving it), happen to all of us every hour of our
lives, without attracting even momentary notice. Coinci-
dences, in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the way
of that class of thinkers who have been educated to know
nothing of the theory of probabilities—that theory to which
the most glorious objects of human research are indebted
for the most glorious of illustration. In the present instance,
had the gold been gone, the fact of its delivery three days
before would have formed something more than a coinci-
dence. It would have been corroborative of this idea of
motive. But, under the real circumstances of the case, if
we are to suppose gold the motive of this outrage, we must
also imagine the perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as to
have abandoned his gold and his motive together.
“Keeping now steadily in mind the points to which I
have drawn your attention that peculiar voice, that unusual
agility, and that startling absence of motive in a murder
so singularly atrocious as this-let us glance at the butchery
itself. Here is a woman strangled to death by manual
strength, and thrust up a chimney head downward. Ordi.
nary assassins employ no such mode of murder as this.
Least of all do they thus dispose of the murdered. In the
manner of thrusting the corpse up the chimney, you will
admit that there was something excessively outré-some-
thing altogether irreconcilable with our common notions of
human action, even when we suppose the actors the most
depraved of men. Think, too, how great must have been
that strength which could have thrust the body up such
an aperture so forcibly that the united vigor of several
persons was found barely sufficient to drag it down!
Turn, now, to other indications of the employment of a
vigor most marvelous. On the hearth were thick tresses-
very thick tresses of gray human hair. These had been
torn out by the roots. You are aware of the great force
necessary in tearing thus from the head even twenty or
thirty hairs together. You saw the locks in question as well
as myself. Their roots (a hideous sight!) were clotted
with fragments of the flesh of the scalp—sure token of the
31


EDGAR ALLAN POE
prodigious power which had been exerted in uprooting per-
haps half a million of hairs at a time. The throat of the
old lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutely sev.
ered from the body: the instrument was a mere razor. I
wish you also to look at the brutal ferocity of these deeds.
Of the bruises upon the body of Madame L'Espanaye I
do not speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy coadjutor
Monsieur Etienne, have pronounced that they were inflicted
by some obtuse instrument; and so far these gentlemen are
very correct. The obtuse instrument was clearly the stone
pavement in the yard, upon which the victim had fallen
from the window which looked in upon the bed. This idea,
however simple it may now seem, escaped the police for
the same reason that the breadth of the shutters escaped
them because, by the affair of the nails, their perceptions
had been hermetically sealed against the possibility of the
windows having ever been opened at all.
“If now, in addition to all these things, you have prop-
erly reflected upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we have
gone so far as to combine the ideas of an agility astound-
ing, a strength superhuman, a ferocity brutal, a butchery
without motive, a grotesquerie in horror absolutely alien
from humanity, and a voice foreign in tone to the ears of
men of many nations, and devoid of all distinct or intelli-
gible syllabification. What result, then, has ensued? What
impression have I made upon your fancy?”.
I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me the
question. “A madman,” I said, "has done this deed some
raving maniac, escaped from a neighboring Maison de
Santé."
"In some respects,” he replied, "your idea is not irrele-
vant. But the voices of madmen, even in their wildest
paroxysms, are never found to tally with that peculiar voice
heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of some nation, and
their language, however incoherent in its words, has always
the coherence of syllabification. Besides, the hair of a mad-
man is not such as I now hold in my hand. I disentangled
this little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of Madame
L'Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it.”


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
“Dupin!” I said, completely unnerved; "this hair is most
unusual—this is no human hair.”
“I have not asserted that it is,” said he; "but, before we
decide this point, I wish you to glance at the little sketch
I have here traced upon this paper. It is a facsimile draw-
ing of what has been described in one portion of the testi-
mony as 'dark bruises and deep indentations of finger nails'
upon the throat of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and in an-
other (by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne) as a 'series of livid
spots, evidently the impression of fingers.'
"You will perceive," continued my friend, spreading out
the paper upon the table before us, “that this drawing gives
the idea of a firm and fixed hold. There is no slipping
apparent. Each finger has retained-possibly until the death
of the victim-the fearful grasp by which it originally em-
bedded itself. Attempt, now, to place all your fingers, at
the same time, in the respective impressions as you see
them.”
I made the attempt in vain.
“We are possibly not giving this matter a fair trial,"
he said. “The paper is spread out upon a plane surface;
but the human throat is cylindrical. Here is a billet of
wood, the circumference of which is about that of the
throat. Wrap the drawing around it, and try the experiment
again."
I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious than
before. “This," I said, “is the mark of no human hand.”
"Read now," replied Dupin, “this passage from Cuvier."
It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive
account of the large fulvous Orang-Outang of the East
Indian Islands. The gigantic stature, the prodigious strength
and activity, the wild ferocity, and the imitative propensi-
ties of these mammalia are sufficiently well known to all.
I understood the full horrors of the murder at once.
"The description of the digits,” said I, as I made an end
of the reading, "is in exact accordance with his drawing.
I see that no animal but an Orang-Outang, of the species
here mentioned, could have impressed the indentations as
you have traced them. This tuft of tawny hair, too, is


EDGAR ALLAN POE
identical in character with that of the beast of Cuvier. But
I cannot possibly comprehend the particulars of this fright-
ful mystery. Besides, there were two voices heard in con-
tention, and one of them was unquestionably the voice of a
Frenchman.”
"True; and you will remember an expression attributed
almost unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice-the
expression,‘mon Dieu ! This, under the circumstances, has
been justly characterized by one of the witnesses (Montani,
the confectioner) as an expression of remonstrance or ex-
postulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I have mainly
built my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A French-
man was cognizant of the murder. It is possible-indeed
it is far more than probable that he was innocent of all
participation in the bloody transactions which took place.
The Orang-Outang may have escaped from him. He may
have traced it to the chamber; but, under the agitating cir.
cumstances which ensued, he could never have recaptured
it. It is still at large. I will not pursue these guesses
for I have no right to call them more-since the shades of
reflection upon which they are based are scarcely of suffi-
cient depth to be appreciable by my own intellect, and
since I could not pretend to make them intelligible to the
understanding of another. We will call them guesses, then,
and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman in question
is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this adver-
tisement, which I left last night, upoi, our return home, at
the office of 'Le Monde' (a paper devoted to the shipping
interest, and much sought by sailors), will bring him to
our residence."
He handed me a paper, and I read thus:
“CAUGHT — In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning of
the - inst. (the morning of the murder), a very large, tawny
Orang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owner (who is ascer-
tained to be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel) may have the
animal again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying a
few charges arising from its capture and keeping Call at No.
- Rue , Faubourg St. Germain-au troisieme.”
34


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
“How was it possible," I asked, “that you should know
the man to be a sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?”
"I do not know it,” said Dupin. "I am not sure of it.
Here, however, is a small piece of ribbon, which from its
form, and from its greasy appearance, has evidently been
used in tying the hair in one of those long queues of which
sailors are so fond. Moreover, this knot is one which few
besides sailors can tie, and it is peculiar to the Maltese.
I picked the ribbon up at the foot of the lightning-rod. It
could not have belonged to either of the deceased. Now
if, after all, I am wrong in my induction from this ribbon,
that the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to a Maltese
vessel, still I can have done no harm in saying what I did
in the advertisement. If I am in error, he will merely sup-
pose that I have been misled by some circumstance into
which he will not take the trouble to inquire. But if I am
right, a great point is gained. Cognizant although innocent
of the murder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitate about
replying to the advertisement-about demanding the Orang-
Outang. He will reason thus:-'I am innocent; I am poor;
my Orang-Outang is of great value-to one in my circum-
stances a fortune of itself-why should I lose it through
idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is, within my grasp.
It was found in the Bois de Boulogne-at a vast distance
from the scene of that butchery. How can it ever be sus-
pected that a brute beast should have done the deed? The
police are at fault-they have failed to procure the slight-
est clue. Should they even trace the animal, it would be
impossible to prove me cognizant of the murder, or to im-
plicate me in guilt on account of that cognizance. Above
all, I am known. The advertiser designates me as the pos-
sessor of the beast. I am not sure to what limit his knowl-
edge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property of
so great value, which it is known that I possess, it will ren-
der the animal at least liable to suspicion. It is not my
policy to attract attention either to myself or to the beast.
I will answer the advertisement, get the Orang-Outang, and
keep it close until this matter has blown over.'”.
At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.
35


EDGAR ALLAN POE
"Be ready,” said Dupin, “with your pistols, but neither
use them nor show them until at a signal from myself."
The front door of the house had been left open, and the
visitor had entered, without ringing, and advanced several
steps upon the staircase. Now, however, he seemed to
hesitate. Presently we heard him descending Dupin was
moving quickly to the door, when we again heard him com-
ing up. He did not turn back a second time, but stepped
up with decision, and rapped at the door of our chamber,
"Come in,” said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone.
A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently-a tall, stout,
and muscular-looking person, with a certain dare-devil ex-
pression of countenance, not altogether unprepossessing,
His face, greatly sunburned, was more than half-hidden by
whisker and mustachio. He had with him a huge oaken
cudgel, but appeared to be otherwise unarmed. He bowed
awkwardly, and bade us “good-evening,” in French accents,
which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still suffi-
ciently indicative of a Parisian origin.
“Sit down, my friend,” said Dupin. “I suppose you have
called about the Orang-Outang. Upon my word, I almost
envy you the possession of him; a remarkably fine, and no
doubt a very valuable animal. How old do you suppose
him to be?”
The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a man
relieved of some intolerable burden, and then replied, in an
assured tone:
“I have no way of telling—but he can't be more than four
or five years old. Have you got him here?"
“Oh, no; we had no conveniences for keeping him here.
He is at a livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. You
can get him in the morning. Of course you are prepared
to identify the property?"
“To be sure I am, sîr.”
"I shall be sorry to part with him," said Dupin.
"I don't mean that you should be at all this trouble for
nothing, sir," said the man. “Couldn't expect it. Am very
willing to pay a reward for the finding of the animal—that
is to say, anything in reason."
36


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
"Well," replied my friend, “that is all very fair, to be
sure. Let me think!-what should I have? Oh! I will tell
you. My reward shall be this. You shall give me all the
information in your power about these murders in the Rue
Morgue.”
Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and very
quietly. Just as quietly, too, he walked toward the door,
locked it, and put the key in his pocket. He then drew a
pistol from his bosom and placed it, without the least flurry,
upon the table.
The sailor's face flushed up as if he were struggling with
suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel;
but the next moment he fell back into his seat, trembling
violently, and with the countenance of death itself. He
spoke not a word. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart.
“My friend,” said Dupin, in a kind tone, “you are alarming
yourself unnecessarily-you are, indeed. We mean you no
harm whatever. I pledge you the honor of a gentleman, and
of a Frenchman, that we intend you no injury. I perfectly
well know that you are innocent of the atrocities in the Rue
Morgue. It will not do, however, to deny that you are in
some measure implicated in them. From what I have already
said, you must know that I have had means of information
about this matter-means of which you could never have
dreamed. Now, the thing stands thus. You have done noth-
ing which you could have avoided-nothing, certainly, which
renders you culpable. You were not even guilty of robbery,
when you might have robbed with impunity. You have noth-
ing to conceal. You have no reason for concealment. On the
other hand, you are bound by every principle of honor to con-
fess all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned,
charged with that crime of which you can point out the per-
petrator."
The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a great
measure, while Dupin uttered these words; but his original
boldness of bearing was all gone.
“So help me God!" said he, after a brief pause, “I will tell
you all I know about this affair;-but I do not expect you to
believe one-half I say I would be a fool indeed if I did.
37


EDGAR ALLAN POE
Still, I am innocent, and I will make a clean breast if I
die for it.”
What he stated was, in substance, this. He had lately
made a voyage to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of which
he formed one, landed at Borneo, and passed into the interior
on an excursion of pleasure. Himself and a companion had
captured the Orang-Outang. This companion dying, the
animal fell into his own exclusive possession. After a great
trouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his captive
during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodging
it safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attract
toward himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors, he
kept it carefully secluded, until such time as it should recover
from a wound in the foot, received from a splinter on board
ship. His ultimate design was to sell it.
Returning home from some sailor's frolic on the night, or
rather in the morning, of the murder, he found the beast
occupying his own bedroom, into which it had broken from a
closet adjoining, where it had been, as was thought, securely
confined. Razor in hand, and fully lathered, it was sitting
before a looking-glass, attempting the operation of shaving,
in which it had no doubt previously watched its master
through the keyhole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of so
dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so fero-
cious, and so well able to use it, the man, for some moments,
was at a loss what to do. He had been accustomed, however,
to quiet the creature, even in its fiercest moods, by the use
of a whip, and to this he now resorted. Upon sight of it,
the Orang-Outang sprang at once through the door of the
chamber, down the stairs, and thence, through a window,
unfortunately open, into the street.
The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor still
in hand, occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate at
his pursuer, until the latter had nearly come up with it. It
then again made off. In this manner the chase continued for
a long time. The streets were profoundly quiet, as it was
nearly three o'clock in the morning. In passing down an
alley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive's attention
was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window of


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
Madame L'Espanaye's chamber, in the fourth story of her
house. Rushing to the building, it perceived the lightning-
rod, clambered up with inconceivable agility, grasped the
shutter, which was thrown fully back against the wall, and,
by its means, swung itself directly upon the headboard of the
bed. The whole feat did not occupy a minute. The shutter
was kicked open again by the Orang-Outang as it entered
the room.
The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and per-
plexed. He had strong hopes of now recapturing the brute,
as it could scarcely escape from the trap into which it had
ventured, except by the rod, where it might be intercepted as
it came down. On the other hand, there was much cause for
anxiety as to what it might do in the house. This latter re-
flection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A light-
ning-rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor;
but, when he had arrived as high as the window, which lay
far to his left, his career was stopped; the most that he could
accomplish was to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of the
interior of the room. At this glimpse he nearly fell from his
hold through excess of horror. Now it was that those hid-
eous shrieks arose upon the night, which had startled from
slumber the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame L'Es-
panaye and her daughter, habited in their night clothes, had
apparently been occupied in arranging some papers in the
iron chest already mentioned, which had been wheeled into
the middle of the room. It was open, and its contents lay
beside it on the floor. The victims must have been sitting
with their backs toward the window; and, from the time elap-
sing between the ingress of the beast and the screams, it
seems probable that it was not immediately perceived. The
flapping to of the shutter would naturally have been attribu-
ted to the wind.
As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seized
Madame L'Espanaye by the hair (which was loose, as she
had been combing it), and was flourishing the razor about
her face, in imitation of the motions of a barber. The daugh-
ter lay prostrate and motionless; she had swooned. The
screams and struggles of the old lady (during which the hair
39


EDGAR ALLAN POE
was torn from her head) had the effect of changing the prob-
ably pacific purposes of the Orang-Outang into those of wrath,
With one determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearly
severed her head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed
its anger into frenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing fire
from its eyes, it flew upon the body of the girl and imbedded
its fearful talons in her throat, retaining its grasp until she
expired. Its wandering and wild glances fell at this moment
upon the head of the bed, over which the face of its master,
rigid with horror, was just discernible. The fury of the beast,
who no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, was in-
stantly converted into fear. Conscious of having deserved
punishment, it seemed desirous of concealing its bloody deeds,
and skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervous agi-
tation; throwing down and breaking the furniture as it moved,
and dragging the bed from the bedstead. In conclusion, it
seized first the corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up the
chimney, as it was found; then that of the old lady, which it
immediately hurled through the window headlong.
As the ape approached the casement with its mutilated
burden, the sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rather glid-
ing than clambering down it, hurried at once home-dreading
the consequences of the butchery, and gladly abandoning, in
his terror, all solicitude about the fate of the Orang-Outang.
The words heard by the party upon the staircase were the
Frenchman's exclamations of horror and affright, commingled
with the fiendish jabberings of the brute.
I have scarcely anything to add. The Orang-Outang must
have escaped from the chamber, by the rod, just before the
breaking of the door. It must have closed the window as it
passed through it. It was subsequently caught by the owner
himself, who obtained for it a very large sum at the Jardin
des Plantes. Le Bon was instantly released, upon our narra-
tion of the circumstances (with some comments from Dupin)
at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary,
however well disposed to my friend, could not altogether con-
ceal his chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and was
fain to indulge in a sarcasm or two about the propriety of
every person minding his own business.
40


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
“Let him talk,” said Dupin, who had not thought it neces-
sary to reply. “Let him discourse; it will ease his conscience.
I am satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle.
Nevertheless, that he failed in the solution of this mystery,
is by no means that matter for wonder which he supposes it;
for, in truth, our friend the Prefect is somewhat too cun-
ning to be profound. In his wisdom is no stamen. It is all
head and no body, like the pictures of the Goddess Laverna-
or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a codfish. But he is
a good creature after all. I like him especially for one master
stroke of cant, by which he has attained his reputation for
ingenuity; I mean the way he has de nier ce qui est, et
d'expliquer ce qui n'est pas.'”*
* Rousseau-Nouvelle Heloise.





THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE
93 93
This is quite properly designated, in the
sub-title, as a sequel to the story that pre-
cedes it, though, as M. Dupin himself points
out, the case presented is a far more intri.
cate one.
Explanations as to the origin of the story
are omitted from this note, as they already
appear with sufficient completeness in the
foot-notes which accompany the opening of
the story.





THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET*
A SEQUEL TO “THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE"
By EDGAR ALLAN POE
Es giebt eine Reihe idealischer Begebenheiten, die der Wirklichkeit parallel
lauft. Selten fallen sie zusammen Menschen und zufalle modificiren ge-
wohnlich die idealische Begebenheit, so dass sie unvollkommen erscheint,
und ihre Folgen gleichfalls unvollkommen sind. So bei der Reformatio
statt des Protestantismus kam das Lutherthum hervor.
There are ideal series of events which run parallel with the real ones. They
rarely coincide. Men and circumstances generally modify the ideal train
of events, so that it seems imperfect, and its consequences are equally im.
perfect. Thus with the Reformation ; instead of Protestantism came Lu.
theranism.-Novalis. “Moral Ansichten."
HERE are few persons, even among the calmest
thinkers who have not occasionally been startled
into a vague yet thrilling half-credence in the
supernatural, by coincidences of so seemingly mar-
velous a character that, as mere coincidences, the intellect
has been unable to receive them. Such sentiments—for the
half-credences of which I speak have never the full force of
thought-such sentiments are seldom thoroughly stifled un-
less by reference to the doctrine of chance, or, as it is tech-
nically termed, the Calculus of Probabilities. Now, this
* Upon the original publication of “Marie Roget,” the footnotes now
appended were considered unnecessary; but the lapse of several years since
the tragedy upon which the tale is based, renders it expedient to give them,
and also to say a few words in explanation of the general design. A young
girl, Mary Cecilia Rogers, was murdered in the vicinity of New York; and
although her death occasioned an intense and long-enduring excitement, the
mystery attending it had remained unsolved at the period when the present
paper was written and published (November, 1842). Herein, under pretense
of relating the fate of a Parisian grisette, the author has followed, in minute
detail, the essential, while merely paralleling the inessential facts of the real
murder of Mary Rogers. Thus all argument founded upon the fiction is
applicable to the truth: and the investigation of the truth was the object.
The “Mystery of Marie Roget" was composed at a distance from the scene
of the atrocity, and with no other means of investigation than the newspapers
+ The nom de plume of Vou Hardenburg.
45


EDGAR ALLAN POE
Calculus is, in its essence, purely mathematical; and thus we
have the anomaly of the most rigidly exact in science applied
to the shadow and spirituality of the most intangible in
speculation.
The extraordinary details which I am now called upon to
make public, will be found to form, as regards sequence of
time, the primary branch of a series of scarcely intelligible
coincidences, whose secondary or concluding branch will be
recognized by all readers in the late murder of Marie Cecilia
Rogers, at New York.
When, in an article entitled “The Murders in the Rue
Morgue," I endeavored, about a year ago, to depict some
very remarkable features in the mental character of my
friend, the Chevalier C. Auguste Dupin, it did not occur to
me that I should ever resume the subject. This depicting of
character constituted my design; and this design was thor-
oughly fulfilled in the wild train of circumstances brought
to instance Dupin's idiosyncrasy. I might have adduced
other examples, but I should have proved no more. Late
events, however, in their surprising development, have
startled me into some further details, which will carry with
them the air of extorted confession. Hearing what I have
lately heard, it would be indeed strange should I remain silent
in regard to what I both heard and saw so long ago.
Upon the winding up of the tragedy involved in the deaths
of Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter, the Chevalier dis-
missed the affair at once from his attention, and relapsed into
his old habits of moody reverie. Prone, at all times, to ab-
straction, I readily fell in with his humor; and continuing
to occupy our chambers in the Faubourg Saint Germain, we
gave the Future to the winds, and slumbered tranquilly in the
Present, weaving the dull world around us into dreams.
But these dreams were not altogether uninterrupted. It
afforded. Thus much escaped the writer of which he could have availed
himself had he been upon the spot and visited the localities. It may not be
improper to record, nevertheless, that the confessions of two persons (one of
them the Madame Deluc of the narrative), made at different periods, long sub- ,
sequent to the publication, confirmed, in full, not only the general conclusion,
but absolutely all the chief hypothetical details by which that conclusion was
attained.
46


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
may readily be supposed that the part played by my friend
in the drama at the Rue Morgue had not failed of its im-
pression upon the fancies of the Parisian police. With its
emissaries, the name of Dupin had grown into a household
word. The simple character of those inductions by which
he had disentangled the mystery never having been explained
even to the Prefect, or to any other individual than myself,
of course it is not surprising that the affair was regarded as
little less than miraculous, or that the Chevalier's analytical
abilities acquired for him the credit of intuition. His frank-
ness would have led him to disabuse every inquirer of such
prejudice; but his indolent humor forbade all further agita-
tion of a topic whose interest to himself had long ceased. It
thus happened that he found himself the cynosure of the
political eyes; and the cases were not few in which attempt
was made to engage his services at the Prefecture. One of
the most remarkable instances was that of the murder of a
young girl named Marie Rogêt.
This event occurred about two years after the atrocity
in the Rue Morgue. Marie, whose Christian and family name
will at once arrest attention from their resemblance to those
of the unfortunate “cigar girl," was the only daughter of the
widow Estelle Rogêt. The father had died during the child's
infancy, and from the period of his death, until within eigh-
teen months before the assassination which forms the subject
of our narrative, the mother and daughter had dwelt together
in the Rue Pavée Saint Andrée*; Madame there keeping a
pension, assisted by Marie. Affairs went on thus until the
latter had attained her twenty-second year, when her great
beauty attracted the notice of a perfumer, who occupied one
of the shops in the basement of the Palais Royal, and whose
custom lay chiefly among the desperate adventurers infesting
that neighborhood. Monsieur Le Blanct was not unaware of
the advantages to be derived from the attendance of the fair
Marie in his perfumery; and his liberal proposals were ac-
cepted eagerly by the girl, although with somewhat more of
hesitation by Madame.
The anticipations of the shopkeeper were realized, and his
* Nassau Street.
+ Anderson.


EDGAR ALLAN POE
rooms soon became notorious through the charms of the
sprightly grisette. She had been in his employ about a year,
when her admirers were thrown into confusion by her sud-
den disappearance from the shop. Monsieur Le Blanc was
unable to account for her absence, and Madame Rogêt was
distracted with anxiety and terror. The public papers imme-
diately took up the theme, and the police were upon the point
of making serious investigations when, one fine morning after
the lapse of a week, Marie in good health, but with a some-
what saddened air, made her reappearance at her usual counter
in the perfumery. All inquiry, except that of a private charac-
ter, was, of course, immediately hushed. Monsieur Le Blanc
professed total ignorance, as before. Marie, with Madame,
replied to all questions, that the last week had been spent at
the house of a relation in the country. Thus the affair died
away, and was generally forgotten; for the girl, ostensibly
to relieve herself from the impertinence of curiosity, soon
bade a final adieu to the perfumer, and sought the shelter of
her mother's residence in the Rue Pavée Saint Andrée.
It was about five months after this return home that her
friends were alarmed by her sudden disappearance for the
second time. Three days elapsed, and nothing was heard
of her. On the fourth her corpse was found floating in the
Seine,* near the shore which is opposite the Quartier of the
Rue Saint Andrée, and at a point not very far distant from
the secluded neighborhood of the Barrière du Roule.f
The atrocity of this murder (for it was at once evident
that murder had been committed), the youth and beauty of
the victim and, above all, her previous notoriety, conspired
to produce intense excitement in the minds of the sensitive
Parisians. I can call to mind no similar occurrence producing
so general and so intense an effect. For several weeks, in the
discussion of this one absorbing theme, even the momentous
political topics of the day were forgotten. The Prefect made
unusual exertions; and the powers of the whole Parisian
police, were, of course, tasked to the utmost extent.
Upon the first discovery of the corpse, it was not supposed
that the murderer would be able to elude, for more than a
* The Hudson.
+ Weehawken.


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
very brief period, the inquisition which was immediately set
on foot. It was not until the expiration of a week that it
was deemed necessary to offer a reward; and even then this
reward was limited to a thousand francs. In the meantime
the investigation proceeded with vigor, if not always with
judgment, and numerous individuals were examined to no
purpose; while, owing to the continual absence of all clue
to the mystery, the popular excitement greatly increased.
At the end of the tenth day it was thought advisable to
double the sum originally proposed; and, at length, the second
week having elapsed without leading to any discoveries, and
the prejudice which always exists in Paris against the police
having given vent to itself in several serious emeutes, the
Prefect took it upon himself to offer the sum of twenty-thou-
sand francs "for the conviction of the assassin,” or, if more
than one should prove to have been implicated, "for the con-
viction of any one of the assassins.” In the proclamation
setting forth this reward, a full pardon was promised to any
accomplice who should come forward in evidence against his
fellow; and to the whole was appended, wherever it appeared,
the private placard of a committee of citizens, offering ten
thousand francs in addition to the amount proposed by the
Prefecture. The entire reward thus stood at no less than
thirty thousand francs, which will be regarded as an extraor-
dinary sum when we consider the humble condition of the
girl, and the great frequency, in large cities, of such atrocities
as the one described.
No one doubted now that the mystery of this murder
would be immediately brought to light. But although, in one
or two instances, arrests were made which promised elucida.
tion, yet nothing was elicited which could implicate the par-
ties suspected; and they were discharged forthwith. Strange
as it may appear, the third week from the discovery of the
body had passed, and passed without any light being thrown
upon the subject, before even a rumor of the events which had
so agitated the public mind reached the ears of Dupin and
myself. Engaged in researches which had absorbed our
whole attention, it had been nearly a month since either of
us had gone abroad, or received a visitor, or more than
(3)
Vol. I
49


EDGAR ALLAN POE
glanced at the leading political articles in one of the daily
papers. The first intelligence of the murder was brought us
by G- in person. He called upon us early in the after-
noon of the thirteenth of July, 18—, and remained with us
until late in the night. He had been piqued by the failure
of all his endeavors to ferret out the assassins. His reputa-
tion-so he said with a peculiarly Parisian air-was at stake.
Even his honor was concerned. The eyes of the public were
upon him; and there was really no sacrifice which he would
not be willing to make for the development of the mystery.
He concluded a somewhat droll speech with a compliment
upon what he was pleased to term the tact of Dupin, and
made him a direct and certainly a liberal proposition, the
precise nature of which I do not feel myself at liberty to
disclose, but which has no bearing upon the proper subject
of my narrative.
The compliment my friend rebutted as best he could, but
the proposition he accepted at once, although its advantages
were altogether provisional. This point being settled, the
Prefect broke forth at once, into explanations of his own
views, interspersing them with long comments upon the evi-
dence; of which latter we were not yet in possession. He
discoursed much, and, beyond doubt, learnedly; while I haz-
arded an occasional suggestion as the night wore drowsily
away. Dupin, sitting steadily in his accustomed armchair,
was the embodiment of respectful attention. He wore spec-
tacles during the whole interview; and an occasional glance
beneath their green glasses sufficed to convince me that he
slept not the less soundly, because silently, throughout the
seven or eight leaden-footed hours which immediately pre-
ceded the departure of the Prefect.
In the morning I procured, at the Prefecture, a full re-
port of all the evidence elicited, and, at the various newspaper
offices, a copy of every paper in which, from first to last, had
been published any decisive information in regard to this
sad affair. Freed from all that was positively disproved, this
mass of information stood thus:
Marie Rogêt left the residence of her mother, in the Rue
Pavée St. Andrée, about nine o'clock in the morning of Sun-
50


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
day, June the twenty-second, 18 In going out, she gave
notice to a Monsieur Jacques St. Eustache,* and to him only,
of her intention to spend the day with an aunt, who resided
in the Rue des Drômes. The Rue des Drômes is a short and
narrow but populous thoroughfare, not far from the banks of
the river, and at a distance of some two miles, in the most
direct course possible, from the pension of Madame Rogêt.
St. Eustache was the accepted suitor of Marie, and lodged, as
well as took his meals, at the pension. He was to have gone
for his betrothed at dusk, and to have escorted her home.
In the afternoon, however, it came on to rain heavily; and,
supposing that she would remain all night at her aunt's (as
she had done under similar circumstances before), he did
not think it necessary to keep his promise. As night drew on,
Madame Rogêt (who was an infirm old lady, seventy years of
age) was heard to express a fear "that she should never see
Marie again"; but this observation attracted little attention
at the time.
On Monday it was ascertained that the girl had not been
to the Rue des Drômes; and when the day elapsed without
tidings of her, a tardy search was instituted at several points
in the city and its environs. It was not, however, until the
fourth day from the period of her disappearance that any-
thing satisfactory was ascertained respecting her. On this
day (Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of June) a Monsieur
Beauvais,† who, with a friend, had been making inquiries for
Marie near the Barrière du Roule, on the shore of the Seine
which is opposite the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, was informed
that a corpse had just been towed ashore by some fisher-
men, who had found it floating in the river. Upon seeing
the body, Beauvais, after some hesitation, identified it as that
of the perfumery girl. His friend recognized it more
promptly.
The face was suffused with dark blood, some of which
issued from the mouth. No foam was seen, as in the case
of the merely drowned. There was no discoloration in the
cellular tissue. About the throat were bruises and impres-
sions of fingers. The arms were bent over on the chest, and
* Payne.
+ Crommelin.
51


EDGAR ALLAN POE
were rigid. The right hand was clenched; the left partially
open. On the left wrist were two circular excoriations, ap-
parently the effect of ropes, or of a rope in more than one
volution. A part of the right wrist, also, was much chafed,
as well as the back throughout its extent, but more espe-
cially at the shoulder-blades. In bringing the body to the
shore the fishermen had attached to it a rope, but none of
the excoriations had been effected by this. The flesh of the
neck was much swollen. There were no cuts apparent, or
bruises which appeared the effect of blows. A piece of lace
was found tied so tightly around the neck as to be hidden
from sight; it was completely buried in the flesh, and was
fastened by a knot which lay just under the left ear. This
alone would have sufficed to produce death. The medical tes-
timony spoke confidently of the virtuous character of the de-
ceased. She had been subjected, it is said, to brutal violence.
The corpse was in such condition when found that there
could have been no difficulty in its recognition by friends.
The dress was much torn and otherwise disordered. In
the outer garment, a slip, about a foot wide, had been torn
upward from the bottom hem to the waist, but not torn off.
It was wound three times around the waist, and secured by
a sort of hitch in the back. The dress immediately beneath
the frock was of fine muslin; and from this a slip eighteen
inches wide had been torn entirely out-torn very evenly
and with great care. It was found around her neck, fitting
loosely, and secured with a hard knot. Over this muslin
slip and the slip of lace the strings of a bonnet were at-
tached, the bonnet being appended. The knot by which the
strings of the bonnet were fastened was not a lady's, but a
slip or sailor's knot.
After the recognition of the corpse, it was not, as usual,
taken to the Morgue (this formality being superfluous), but
hastily interred not far from the spot at which it was brought
ashore. Through the exertions of Beauvais, the matter was
industriously hushed up, as far as possible; and several days
had elapsed before any public emotion resulted. A weekly
paper,* however, at length took up the theme; the corpse
* The New York “Mercury."
52


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
was disinterred, and a reexamination instituted; but nothing
was elicited beyond what has been already noted. The
clothes, however, were now submitted to the mother and
friends of the deceased, and fully identified as those worn
by the girl upon leaving home.
Meantime, the excitement increased hourly. Several in-
dividuals were arrested and discharged. St. Eustache fell
especially under suspicion; and he failed, at first, to give
an intelligible account of his whereabouts during the Sunday
on which Marie left home. Subsequently, however, he sub-
mitted to Monsieur G- , affidavits, accounting satisfac-
torily for every hour of the day in question. As time passed
no discovery ensued, a thousand contradictory rumors were
circulated, and journalists busied themselves in suggestions.
Among these, the one which attracted the most notice was
the idea that Marie Rogêt still lived that the corpse found
in the Seine was that of some other unfortunate. It will be
proper that I submit to the reader some passages which
embody the suggestion alluded to. These passages are
literal translations from “L'Etoile,”* a paper conducted, in
general, with much ability.
"Mademoiselle Rogêt left her mother's house on Sunday
morning, June the twenty-second, 18-, with the ostensible
purpose of going to see her aunt, or some other connection,
in the Rue des Drômes. From that hour nobody is proved
to have seen her. There is no trace or tidings of her at
all.... There has no person, whatever, come forward,
so far, who saw her at all on that day, after she left her
mother's door. . . . Now, though we have no evidence
that Marie Rogêt was in the land of the living after nine
o'clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second, we have proof
that, up to that hour, she was alive. On Wednesday noon,
at twelve, a female body was discovered afloat on the shore
of the Barrière du Roule. This was, even if we presume
that Marie Rogêt was thrown into the river within three
hours after she left her mother's house, only three days from
the time she left her home-three days to an hour. But it
is folly to suppose that the murder, if murder was committed
* The New York “ Brother Jonathan," edited by H. Hastings Weld, Esq.
53


EDGAR ALLAN POE
on her body, could have been consummated soon enough
to have enabled her murderers to throw the body into the
river before midnight. Those who are guilty of such horrid
crimes choose darkness rather than light. ... Thus we
see that if the body found in the river was that of Marie
Rogêt, it could only have been in the water two and a half
days, or three at the outside. All experience has shown that
drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water immedi-
ately after death by violence, require from six to ten days
for sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to
the top of the water. Even where a cannon is fired over a
corpse, and it rises before at least five or six days' immer-
sion, it sinks again, if left alone. Now, we ask, what was
there in this case to cause a departure from the ordinary
course of nature? ... If the body had been kept in its
mangled state on shore until Tuesday night, some trace
would be found on shore of the murderers. It is a doubt-
ful point, also, whether the body would be so soon afloat,
even were it thrown in after having been dead two days.
And, furthermore, it is exceedingly improbable that any
villains who had committed such a murder as is here sup-
posed, would have thrown the body in without weight to
sink it, when such a precaution could have so easily been
taken."
The editor here proceeds to argue that the body must
have been in the water "not three days merely, but, at least,
five times three days,” because it was so far decomposed
that Beauvais had great difficulty in recognizing it. This
latter point, however, was fully disproved. I continue the
translation:
"What, then, are the facts on which M. Beauvais says
that he has no doubt the body was that of Marie Rogêt?
He ripped up the gown sleeve, and says he found marks
which satisfied him of the identity. The public generally
supposed those marks to have consisted of some description
of scars. He rubbed the arm and found hair upon it-some-
thing as indefinite, we think, as can readily be imagined-


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
as little conclusive as finding an arm in the sleeve. M. '
Beauvais did not return that night, but sent word to
Madame Rogêt, at seven o'clock, on Wednesday evening,
that an investigation was still in progress respecting her
daughter. If we allow that Madame Rogêt, from her age
and grief, could not go over (which is allowing a great
deal), there certainly must have been some one who would
have thought it worth while to go over and attend the in-
vestigation, if they thought the body was that of Marie.
Nobody went over. There was nothing said or heard about
the matter in the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, that reached even
the occupants of the same building. M. St. Eustache, the
lover and intended husband of Marie, who boarded in her
mother's house, deposes that he did not hear of the discov-
ery of the body of his intended until the next morning, when
M. Beauvais came into his chamber and told him of it. For
an item of news like this, it strikes us it was very coolly
received."
In this way the journal endeavored to create the impres-
sion of an apathy on the part of the relatives of Marie, in-
consistent with the supposition that these relatives believed
the corpse to be hers. Its insinuations amount to this: that
Marie, with the connivance of her friends, had absented her-
self from the city for reasons involving a charge against
her chastity; and that these friends upon the discovery of a
corpse in the Seine, somewhat resembling that of the girl,
had availed themselves of the opportunity to impress the
public with the belief of her death. But “L'Etoile” was
again overhasty. It was distinctly proved that no apathy,
such as was imagined, existed; that the old lady was exceed-
ingly feeble, and so agitated as to be unable to attend to any
duty; that St. Eustache, so far from receiving the news coolly,
was distracted with grief, and bore himself so frantically,
that M. Beauvais prevailed upon a friend and relative to
take charge of him, and prevent his attending the examina-
tion at the disinterment. Moreover, although it was stated
by “L'Etoile" that the corpse was reinterred at the public
expense, that an advantageous offer of private sepulture was.
55


EDGAR ALLAN POE
absolutely declined by the family, and that no member of the
family attended the ceremonial;- although, I say, all this
was asserted by “L'Etoile” in furtherance of the impression
it designed to convey-yet all this was satisfactorily dis-
proved. In a subsequent number of the paper, an attempt
was made to throw suspicion upon Beauvais himself. The
editor says:
“Now, then, a change comes over the matter. We are
told that, on one occasion, while a Madame B w as at
Madame Rogêt's house, M. Beauvais, who was going out,
told her that a gendarme was expected there, and that she,
Madame B., must not say anything to the gendarme until
he returned, but let the matter be for him. ... In the
present posture of affairs, M. Beauvais appears to have the
whole matter locked up in his head. A single step can not
be taken without M. Beauvais, for, go which way you will,
you run against him. . . . For some reason he deter-
mined that nobody shall have anything to do with the pro-
ceedings but himself, and he has elbowed the male relatives
out of the way, according to their representations, in a very
singular manner. He seems to have been very much averse
to permitting the relatives to see the body."
By the following fact, some color was given to the sus-
picion thus thrown upon Beauvais. A visitor at his office,
a few days prior to the girl's disappearance, and during the
absence of its occupant, had observed a rose in the keyhole
of the door, and the name “Marie” inscribed upon a slate
which hung near at hand.
The general impression, so far as we were enabled to
glean it from the newspapers, seemed to be, that Marie
had been the victim of a gang of desperadoes—that by
these she had been borne across the river, maltreated, and
murdered.
"Le Commerciel,"* however, a print of extensive in-
fluence, was earnest in combating this popular idea. I
quote a passage or two from its columns:
* New York "Journal of Commerce."
56


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
“We are persuaded that pursuit has hitherto been on a
false scent, so far as it has been directed to the Barrière
du Roule. It is impossible that a person so well known to
thousands as this young woman was, should have passed
three blocks without some one having seen her; and any
one who saw her would have remembered it, for she inter-
ested all who knew her. It was when the streets were full
of people, when she went out. . . . It is impossible that
she could have gone to the Barrière du Roule, or to the Rue
des Drômes, without being recognized by a dozen persons;
yet no one has come forward who saw her outside her
mother's door, and there is no evidence, except the testi-
mony concerning her expressed intentions, that she did go
out at all. Her gown was torn, bound round her, and tied;
and by that the body was carried as a bundle. If the mur-
der had been committed at the Barrière du Roule, there
would have been no necessity for any such arrangement.
The fact that the body was found floating near the Barrière
is no proof as to where it was thrown into the water. ...
A piece of one of the unfortunate girl's petticoats, two feet
long and one foot wide, was torn out and tied under her
chin around the back of her head, probably to prevent
screams. This was done by fellows who had no pocket-
handerchief."
A day or two before the Prefect called upon us, how-
ever, some important information reached the police, which
seemed to overthrow, at least, the chief portion of “Le Com-
merciel's” argument. Two small boys, sons of a Madame
Deluc, while roaming among the woods near the Barrière
du Roule, chanced to penetrate a close thicket, within which
were three or four large stones, forming a kind of seat with
a back and footstool. On the upper stone lay a white petti-
coat; on the second, a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a
pocket-handkerchief were also here found. The handkerchief
bore the name "Marie Rogêt.” Fragments of dress were
discovered on the brambles around. The earth was tram-
pled, the bushes were broken, and there was every evidence
of a struggle. Between the thicket and the river, the fences
57


EDGAR ALLAN POE
were found taken down, and the ground bore evidence of
some heavy burden having been dragged along it.
A weekly paper, “Le Soleil,” * had the following com-
ments upon this discovery-comments which merely echoed
the sentiment of the whole Parisian press:
“The things had all evidently been there at least three
or four weeks; they were all mildewed down hard with the
action of the rain, and stuck together from mildew. The
grass had grown around and over some of them. The silk
on the parasol was strong, but the threads of it were run
together within. The upper part, where it had been doubled
and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and tore on its
being opened. . . . The pieces of her frock torn out by
the bushes were about three inches wide and six inches long.
One part was the hem of the frock, and it had been mended;
the other piece was part of the skirt, not the hem. They
looked like strips torn off, and were on the thorn bush,
about a foot from the ground. ... There can be no
doubt, therefore, that the spot of this appalling outrage has
been discovered.”
Consequent upon this discovery, new evidence appeared.
Madame Deluc testified that she keeps a roadside inn not
far from the bank of the river, opposite the Barrière du Roule.
The neighborhood is secluded-particularly so. It is the
usual Sunday resort of blackguards from the city, who cross
the river in boats. About three o'clock, in the afternoon
of the Sunday in question, a young girl arrived at the inn,
accompanied by a young man of dark complexion. The
two remained here for some time. On their departure, they
took the road to some thick woods in the vicinity. Madame
Deluc's attention was called to the dress worn by the girl,
on account of its resemblance to one worn by a deceased rela-
tive. A scarf was particularly noticed. Soon after the de-
parture of the couple, a gang of miscreants made their ap-
pearance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank without
making payment, followed in the route of the young man
• Philadelphia “ Saturday Evening Post," edited by C. I. Peterson.Esq.
58


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
and girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and recrossed the
river as if in great haste.
It was soon after dark, upon this same evening, that
Madame Deluc, as well as her eldest son, heard the screams
of a female in the vicinity of the inn. The screams were
violent but brief. Madame D. recognized not only the scarf
which was found in the thicket, but the dress which was dis-
covered upon the corpse. An omnibus driver, Valence,*
now also testified that he saw Marie Rogêt cross a ferry
on the Seine, on the Sunday in question, in company with
a young man of dark complexion. He, Valence, knew
Marie, and could not be mistaken in her identity. The arti-
cles found in the thicket were fully identified by the rela-
tives of Marie.
The items of evidence and information thus collected by
myself, from the newspapers, at the suggestion of Dupin,
embraced only one more point-but this was a point of
seemingly vast consequence. It appears that, immediately
after the discovery of the clothes as above described, the
lifeless or nearly lifeless body of St. Eustache, Marie's be-
trothed, was found in the vicinity of what all now supposed
the scene of the outrage. A phial labeled "laudanum," and
emptied, was found near him. His breath gave evidence of
the poison. He died without speaking. Upon his person
was found a letter, briefly stating his love for Marie, with
his design of self-destruction.
“I need scarcely tell you,” said Dupin, as he finished the
perusal of my notes, “that this is a far more intricate case
than that of the Rue Morgue; from which it differs in one
important respect. This is an ordinary, although an atro-
cious, instance of crime. There is nothing peculiarly outre
about it. You will observe that, for this reason, the mystery
has been considered easy, when, for this reason, it should
have been considered difficult, of solution. Thus, at first, it
was thought unnecessary to offer a reward. The myrmidons
of
G
w ere able at once to comprehend how and why
such an atrocity might have been committed. They could
picture to their imaginations a mode-many modes—and a
* Adam,
59


EDGAR ALLAN POE
motive-many motives; and because it was not impossible
that either of these numerous modes and motives could have
been the actual one, they have taken it for granted that one
of them must. But the ease with which these variable fan-
cies were entertained, and the very plausibility which each
assumed, should have been understood as indicative rather
of the difficulties than of the facilities which must attend
elucidation. I have, therefore, observed that it is by prom-
inences above the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels
her way, if at all, in her search for the true, and that the
proper question in cases such as this, is not so much 'what
has occurred?' as 'what has occurred that has never occurred
before?' In the investigations at the house of Madame
L'Espanaye,* the agents of
G w ere discouraged and con-
founded by that very unusualness which, to a properly regu.
lated intellect, would have afforded the surest omen of suc-
cess; while this same intellect might have been plunged in
despair at the ordinary character of all that met the eye in
the case of the perfumery girl, and yet told of nothing but
easy triumph to the functionaries of the Prefecture.
"In the case of Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter,
there was, even at the beginning of our investigation, no
doubt that murder had been committed. The idea of sui-
cide was excluded at once. Here, too, we are freed, at the
commencement, from all supposition of self-murder. The
body found at the Barrière du Roule was found under such
circumstances as to leave us no room for embarrassment
upon this important point. But it has been suggested that
the corpse discovered is not that of the Marie Rogêt for the
conviction of whose assassin, or assassins, the reward is
offered, and respecting whom, solely, our agreement has
been arranged with the Prefect. We both know this gentle-
man well. It will not do to trust him too far. If, dating
our inquiries from the body found, and then tracing a mur-
derer, we yet discover this body to be that of some other
individual than Marie; or if, starting from the living Marie,
we find her, yet find her unassassinated-in either case we
lose our labor; since it is Monsieur G with whom we
* See “Murders in the Rue Morgue."
0


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
have to deal. For our own purpose, therefore, if not for
the purpose of justice, it is indispensable that our first step
should be the determination of the identity of the corpse
with the Marie Rogêt who is missing.
“With the public the arguments of 'L'Etoile' have had
weight; and that the journal itself is convinced of their
importance would appear from the manner in which it com-
mences one of its essays upon the subject-'Several of the
morning papers of the day,' it says, 'speak of the conclusive
article in Monday's “'Etoile.") To me, this article appears
conclusive of little beyond the zeal of its inditer. We should
bear in mind that, in general, it is the object of our news-
papers rather to create a sensation-to make a point-than
to further the cause of truth. The latter end is only pur-
sued when it seems coincident with the former. The print
which merely falls in with ordinary opinion (however well
founded this opinion may be) earns for itself no credit with
the mob. The mass of the people regard as profound only ·
him who suggests pungent contradictions of the general
idea. In ratiocination, not less than in literature, it is the
epigram which is the most immediately and the most univer-
sally appreciated. In both, it is of the lowest order of merit,
“What I mean to say is, that it is the mingled epigram
and melodrame of the idea, that Marie Rogêt still lives,
rather than any true plausibility in this idea, which have
suggested it to 'L'Etoile,' and secured it a favorable recep-
tion with the public. Let us examine the heads of this
journal's argument; endeavoring to avoid the incoherence
with which it is originally set forth.
“The first aim of the writer is to show, from the brevity of
the interval between Marie's disappearance and the finding of
the floating corpse, that this corpse can not be that of Marie.
The reduction of this interval to its smallest possible dimen-
sion, becomes thus, at once, an object with the reasoner. In
the rash pursuit of this object, he rushes into mere assump-
tion at the outset. 'It is folly to suppose,' he says, 'that the
murder, if murder was committed on her body, could have
been consummated soon enough to have enabled her mur-
derers to throw the body into the river before midnight. We
61


EDGAR ALLAN POE
demand at once, and very naturally, Why? Why is it folly
to suppose that the murder was committed within five min-
utes after the girl's quitting her mother's house? Why is it
folly to suppose that the murder was committed at any given
period of the day? There have been assassinations at all
hours. But, had the murder taken place at any moment be-
tween nine o'clock in the morning of Sunday and a quarter
before midnight, there would still have been time enough 'to
throw the body into the river before midnight.' This as-
sumption, then, amounts precisely to this—that the murder
was not committed on Sunday at all—and, if we allow
'L'Etoile' to assume this, we may permit it any liberties what-
ever. The paragraph beginning 'It is folly to suppose that
the murder, etc.,' however it appears as printed in ‘L'Etoile,'
may be imagined to have existed actually thus in the brain of
its inditer: 'It is folly to suppose that the murder, if murder
was committed on the body, could have been committed soon
enough to have enabled her murderers to throw the body
into the river before midnight; it is folly, we say, to suppose
all this, and to suppose at the same time (as we are resolved
to suppose), that the body was not thrown in until after mid-
night'-a sentence sufficiently inconsequential in itself, but
not so utterly preposterous as the one printed.
"Were it my purpose,” continued Dupin, “merely to make
out a case against this passage of 'L'Etoile's' argument, I
might safely leave it where it is. It is not, however, with
'L'Etoile' that we have to do, but with the truth. The sen-
tence in question has but one meaning, as it stands; and this
meaning I have fairly stated; but it is material that we go
behind the mere words, for an idea which these words have
obviously intended, and failed to convey. It was the design
of the journalists to say that at whatever period of the day
or night of Sunday this murder was committed, it was im-
probable that the assassins would have ventured to bear the
corpse to the river before midnight. And herein lies, really,
the assumption of which I complain. It is assumed that the
murder was committed at such a position, and under such
circumstances, that the bearing it to the river became neces-
sary. Now, the assassination might have taken place upon


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
the river's brink, or on the river itself; and, thus, the throw-
ing the corpse in the water might have been resorted to at
any period of the day or night, as the most obvious and most
immediate mode of disposal. You will understand that I
suggest nothing here as probable, or as coincident with my
opinion. My design, so far, has no reference to the facts of
the case. I wish merely to caution you against the whole
tone of «L'Etoile's' suggestion, by calling your attention to
its ex-parte character at the outset.
“Having prescribed thus a limit to suit its own precon-
ceived notions; having assumed that, if this were the body
of Marie, it could have been in the water but a very brief
time, the journal goes on to say:
“'All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies
thrown into the water immediately after death by violence,
require from six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to
take place to bring them to the top of the water. Even
when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before
at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again if let
alone.'
“These assertions have been tacitly received by every
paper in Paris, with the exception of 'Le Moniteur.'* This
latter print endeavors to combat that portion of the para-
graph which has reference to 'drowned bodies' only, by citing
some five or six instances in which the bodies of individuals
known to be drowned were found floating after the lapse
of less time than is insisted upon by 'L'Etoile.' But there is
something excessively unphilosophical in the attempt, on the
part of 'Le Moniteur,' to rebut the general assertion of
'L'Etoile,' by a citation of particular instances militating
against that assertion. Had it been possible to adduce fifty
instead of five examples of bodies found floating at the end
of two or three days, these fifty examples could still have
been properly regarded only as exceptions to 'L'Etoile's' rule,
until such time as the rule itself should be confuted. Admit-
ting the rule (and this 'Le Moniteur does not deny, insisting
merely upon its exceptions), the argument of 'L'Etoile' is
suffered to remain in full force; for this argument does not
* The New Yorks "Commercial Advertiser” edited by Colonel Stone.
63


EDGAR ALLAN POE
pretend to involve more than a question of the probability
of the body having risen to the surface in less than three
days; and this probability will be in favor of 'L'Etoile's'
position until the instances so childishly adduced shall be
sufficient in number to establish an antagonistical rule.
“You will see at once that all argument upon this head
should be urged, if at all, against the rule itself; and for this
end we must examine the rationale of the rule. Now the
human body, in general, is neither much lighter nor much
heavier than the water of the Seine; that is to say, the spe-
cific gravity of the human body, in its natural condition, is
about equal to the bulk of fresh water which it displaces.
The bodies of fat and fleshy persons, with small bones, and
of women generally, are lighter than those of the lean and
large-boned, and of men; and the specific gravity of the
water of a river is somewhat influenced by the presence of
the tide from the sea. But, leaving this tide out of the ques-
tion, it may be said that very few human bodies will sink at
all, even in fresh water, of their own accord. Almost any
one, falling into a river, will be enabled to float, if he suffer
the specific gravity of the water fairly to be adduced in com-
parison with his own-that is to say, if he suffer his whole
person to be immersed, with as little exception as possible.
The proper position for one who can not swim is the upright
position of the walker on land, with the head thrown fully
back, and immersed; the mouth and nostrils alone remaining
above the surface. Thus circumstanced, we shall find that we
float without difficulty and without exertion. It is evident,
however, that the gravities of the body, and of the bulk of
water displaced, are very nicely balanced, and that a trifle
will cause either to preponderate. An arm, for instance, up-
lifted from the water, and thus deprived of its support, is
an additional weight sufficient to immerse the whole head,
while the accidental aid of the smallest piece of timber will
enable us to elevate the head so as to look about. Now, in
the struggles of one unused to swimming, the arms are in-
variably thrown upward, while an attempt is made to keep
the head in its usual perpendicular position. The result
is the immersion of the mouth and nostrils, and the incep-
64


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
tion, during efforts to breathe while beneath the surface, of
water into the lungs. Much is also received into the stomach,
and the whole body becomes heavier by the difference be-
tween the weight of the air originally distending these cav-
ities, and that of the fluid which now fills them. This differ-
ence is sufficient to cause the body to sink, as a general rule;
but is insufficient in the case of individuals with small bones
and an abnormal quantity of flaccid or fatty matter. Such
individuals float even after drowning.
“The corpse, being supposed at the bottom of the river,
will there remain until, by some means, its specific gravity
again becomes less than that of the bulk of water which it
displaces. This effect is brought about by decomposition or
otherwise. The result of decomposition is the generation of
gas, distending the cellular tissues and all the cavities, and
giving the puffed appearance which is so horrible. When this
distension has so far progressed that the bulk of the corpse
is materially increased without a corresponding increase of
mass or weight, its specific gravity becomes less than that
of the water displaced, and it forthwith makes its appearance
at the surface. But decomposition is modified by innumer-
able circumstances—is hastened or retarded by innumerable
agencies; for example, by the heat or cold of the season, by
the mineral impregnation or purity of the water, by its depth
or shallowness, by its currency or stagnation, by the tem-
• perament of the body, by its infection or freedom from dis-
ease before death. Thus it is evident that we can assign no
period, with anything like accuracy, at which the corpse shall
rise through decomposition. Under certain conditions this
result would be brought about within an hour; under others
it might not take place at all. There are chemical infusions
by which the animal frame can be preserved forever from
corruption; the bichloride of mercury is one. But, apart from
decomposition, there may be, and very usually is, a generation
of gas within the stomach, from the acetous fermentation of
vegetable matter (or within other cavities from other causes),
sufficient to induce a distension which will bring the body
to the surface. The effect produced by the firing of a can-
non is that of simple vibration. This may either loosen the


EDGAR ALLAN POE
corpse from the soft mud or ooze in which it is embedded,
thus permitting it to rise when other agencies have already
prepared it for so doing; or it may overcome the tenacity
of some putrescent portions of the cellular tissue, allowing
the cavities to distend under the influence of the gas.
“Having thus before us the whole philosophy of this sub-
ject, we can easily test by it the assertions of 'L'Etoile.' 'All
experience shows,' says this paper, 'that drowned bodies, or
bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by
violence, require from six to ten days for sufficient de-
composition to take place to bring them to the top of the
water. Even when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and it
rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again
if let alone.'
“The whole of this paragraph must now appear a tissue
of inconsequence and incoherence. All experience does not
show that 'drowned bodies' require from six to ten days for
sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to the
surface. Both science and experience show that the
period of their rising is, and necessarily must be, indeter-
minate. If, moreover, a body has risen to the surface through
firing of cannon, it will not 'sink again if let alone,' until de-
composition has so far progressed as to permit the escape
of the generated gas. But I wish to call your attention to the
distinction which is made between 'drowned bodies,' and
'bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by .
violence. Although the writer admits the distinction, he
yet includes them all in the same category. I have shown
how it is that the body of a drowning man becomes specifi-
cally heavier than its bulk of water, and that he would not
sink at all, except for the struggle by which he elevates his
arms above the surface, and his gasps for breath while be-
neath the surface-gasps which supply by water the place
of the original air in the lungs. But these struggles and
these gasps would not occur in the body 'thrown into the
water immediately after death by violence.' Thus, in the
latter instance, the body, as a general rule, would not sink
at all—a fact of which 'L'Etoile' is evidently ignorant. When
decomposition had proceeded to a very great extent-when
66


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
the flesh had in a great measure left the bones—then, indeed,
but not till then, should we lose sight of the corpse.
“And now what are we to make of the argument, that the
body found could not be that of Marie Rogêt, because, three
days only having elapsed, this body was found floating? If
drowned, being a woman, she might never have sunk; or,
having sunk, might have reappeared in twenty-four hours
or less. But no one supposes her to have been drowned; and,
dying before being thrown into the river, she might have been
found floating at any period afterward whatever.
“ 'But,' says 'L'Etoile,' 'if the body had been kept in its
mangled state on shore until Tuesday night, some trace
would be found on shore of the murderers.' Here it is at first
difficult to perceive the intention of the reasoner. He means
to anticipate what he imagines would be an objection to his
theory-iiz.: that the body was kept on shore two days, suf-
fering rapid decomposition-more rapid than if immersed in
water. He supposes that, had this been the case, it might
have appeared at the surface on the Wednesday, and thinks
that only under such circumstances it could have so appeared.
He is accordingly in haste to show that it was not kept on
shore; for, if so, 'some trace would be found on shore of the
murderers.' I presume you smile at the sequitur. You can
not be made to see how the mere duration of the corpse on
the shore could operate to multiply traces of the assassins.
Nor can I.
“And furthermore it is exceedingly improbable,' con-
tinues our journal, 'that any villains who had committed such
a murder as is here supposed, would have thrown the body
in without weight to sink it, when such a precaution could
have so easily been taken.' Observe, here, the laughable con-
fusion of thought! No one-not even 'L'Etoile'-disputes the
murder committed on the body found. The marks of violence
are too obvious. It is our reasoner's object merely to show
that this body is not Marie's. He wishes to prove that Marie
is not assassinated-not that the corpse was not. Yet his
observation proves only the latter point. Here is a corpse
without weight attached. Murderers, casting it in, would
not have failed to attach a weight. Therefore it was not
67


EDGAR ALLAN POE
thrown in by murderers. This is all which is proved, if any
thing is. The question of identity is not even approached,
and 'L'Etoile' has been at great pains merely to gainsay now
what it has admitted only a moment before. 'We are per-
·fectly convinced,' it says, 'that the body found was that of
a murdered female.'
"Nor is this the sole instance, even in this division of his
subject, where our reasoner unwittingly reasons against him-
self. His evident object, I have already said, is to reduce,
as much as possible, the interval between Marie's disappear-
ance and the finding of the corpse. Yet we find him urging
the point that no person saw the girl from the moment of her
leaving her mother's house. We have no evidence,' he says,
'that Marie Rogêt was in the land of the living after nine
o'clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second.' As his argu-
ment is obviously an ex parte one, he should, at least, have
left this matter out of sight; for had any one been known
to see Marie, say on Monday, or on Tuesday, the interval in
question would have been much reduced, and, by his own
ratiocination, the probability much diminished of the corpse
being that of the grisette. It is, nevertheless, amusing to
observe that 'L'Etoile' insists upon its point in the full belief
of its furthering its general argument.
“Reperuse now that portion of this argument which has
reference to the identification of the corpse by Beauvais. In
regard to the hair upon the arm, 'L'Etoile has been obviously
disingenuous. M. Beauvais, not being an idiot, could never
have urged in identification of the corpse, simply hair upon its
arm. No arm is without hair. The generality of the ex-
pression of 'L'Etoile' is a mere perversion of the witness's
phraseology. He must have spoken of some peculiarity in
this hair. It must have been a peculiarity of color, of quan-
tity, of length, or of situation.
“ 'Her foot,' says the journal, 'was small-so are thou-
sands of feet. Her garter is no proof whatever-nor is her
shoe-for shoes and garters are sold in packages. The same
may be said of the flowers in her hat. One thing upon which
M. Beauvais strongly insists is, that the clasp on the garter
found had been set back to take it in. This amounts to noth-
68


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
ing; for most women find it proper to take a pair of garters
home and fit them to the size of the limbs they are to en-
circle, rather than to try them in the store where they pur-
chase.' Here it is difficult to suppose the reasoner in earnest.
Had M. Beauvais, in his search for the body of Marie, dis-
covered a corpse corresponding in general size and appear-
ance to the missing girl, he would have been warranted
(without reference to the question of habiliment at all) in
forming an opinion that his search had been successful. If,
in addition to the point of general size and contour, he had
found upon the arm a peculiar hairy appearance which he had
observed upon the living Marie, his opinion might have been
justly strengthened; and the increase of positiveness might
well have been in the ratio of the peculiarity, or unusualness,
of the hairy mark. If, the feet of Marie being small, those
of the corpse were also small, the increase of probability that
the body was that of Marie would not be an increase in a
ratio merely arithmetical, but in one highly geometrical, or
accumulative. Add to all this shoes such as she had been
known to wear upon the day of her disappearance, and, al-
though these shoes may be 'sold in packages, you so far
augment the probability as to verge upon the certain. What,
of itself, would be no evidence of identity, becomes through
its corroborative position, proof most sure. Give us, then,
flowers in the hat corresponding to those worn by the
missing girl, and we seek for nothing further. If only one
flower, we seek for nothing further—what then if two or
three, or more? Each successive one is multiple evidence
-proof not added to proof, but multiplied by hundreds or
thousands. Let us now discover, upon the deceased, garters
such as the living used, and it is almost folly to proceed.
But these garters are found to be tightened, by the setting
back of a clasp, in just such a manner as her own had
been tightened by Marie shortly previous to her leaving
home. It is now madness or hypocrisy to doubt. What
'L'Etoile' says in respect to this abbreviation of the garters
being an unusual occurrence, shows nothing beyond its own
pertinacity in error. The elastic nature of the clasp-garter
is self-demonstration of the unusualness of the abbreviation.


EDGAR ALLAN POE
What is made to adjust itself, must of necessity require for-
eign adjustment but rarely. It must have been by an acci-
dent, in its strictest sense, that these garters of Marie needed
the tightening described. They alone would have amply es-
tablished her identity. But it is not that the corpse was
found to have the garters of the missing girl, or found to have
her shoes, or her bonnet, or the flowers of her bonnet, or her
feet, or a peculiar mark upon the arm, or her general size
and appearance-it is that the corpse had each, and all col.
lectively. Could it be proved that the editor of 'L'Etoile' really
entertained a doubt, under the circumstances, there would
be no need, in his case, of a commission de lunatico inquir.
endo. He has thought it sagacious to echo the small talk
of the lawyers, who, for the most part, content themselves
with echoing the rectangular precepts of the courts. I would
here observe that very much of what is rejected as evidence
by a court, is the best of evidence to the intellect. For the
court, guided itself by the general principles of evidence-
the recognized and booked principles—is averse from swery-
ing at particular instances. And this steadfast adherence to
principle, with rigorous disregard of the conflicting excep-
tion, is a sure mode of attaining the maximum of attainable
truth, in any long sequence of time. The practise, en mass,
is therefore philosophical; but it is not the less certain that
it engenders vast individual error.*
“In respect to the insinuations leveled at Beauvais, you
will be willing to dismiss them in a breath. You have already.
fathomed the true character of this good gentleman. He is
a busybody, with much of romance and little of wit. Any one
so constituted will readily so conduct himself, upon occasion
of real excitement, as to render himself liable to suspicion
on the part of the over-acute, or the ill-disposed. M. Beau-
* “A theory based on the qualities of an object, will prevent its being un-
folded according to its objects; and he who arranges topics in reference to
their causes, will cease to value them according to their results. Thus the
jurisprudence of every nation will show that, when law becomes a science
and a system, it ceases to be justice. The errors into which a blind devotion
to principles of classification has led the common law will be seen by observing
how often the legislature has been obliged to come forward to restore the
equity its scheme had lost."-Landor.
70


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
vais (as it appears from your notes) had some personal inter-
views with the editor of 'L'Etoile' and offended him by
venturing an opinion that the corpse, notwithstanding the
theory of the editor, was, in sober fact, that of Marie. 'He
persists,' says the paper, 'in asserting the corpse to be that of
Marie, but can not give a circumstance, in addition to those
which we have commented upon, to make others believe.'
Now, without readverting to the fact that stronger evidence
'to make others believe' could never have been adduced, it
may be remarked that a man may very well be understood
to believe, in a case of this kind, without the ability to ad-
vance a single reason for the belief of a second party. Noth-
ing is more vague than impressions of individual identity.
Each man recognizes his neighbor, yet there are few in-
stances in which any one is prepared to give a reason for
his recognition. The editor of 'L'Etoile' had no right to be
offended at M. Beauvais's unreasoning belief.
“The suspicious circumstances which invest him will be
found to tally much better with my hypothesis of romantic
busybodyism than with the reasoner's suggestion of guilt.
Once adopting the more charitable interpretation, we shall
find no difficulty in comprehending the rose in the key-hole;
the 'Marie' upon the slate; the 'elbowing the male relatives
out of the way'; the 'aversion to permitting them to see
the body'; the caution given to Madame B- , that she
must hold no conversation with the gendarme until his
(Beauvais's) return; and, lastly, his apparent determination
'that nobody should have anything to do with the proceed-
ings except himself. It seems to me unquestionable that
Beauvais was a suitor of Marie's; that she coquetted with
him; and that he was ambitious of being thought to enjoy
her fullest intimacy and confidence. I shall say nothing
more upon this point; and, as the evidence fully rebuts the
assertion of 'L'Etoile,' touching the matter of apathy on the
part of the mother and other relatives—an apathy incon-
sistent with the supposition of their believing the corpse
to be that of the perfumery girl-we shall now proceed as
if the question of identity were settled to our perfect
satisfaction."
71


EDGAR ALLAN POE
“And what," I here demanded, "do you think of the opin
ions of 'Le Commerciel'?"
“That, in spirit, they are far more worthy of attention
than any which have been promulgated upon the subject.
The deductions from the premises are philosophical and
acute; but the premises, in two instances, at least, are founded
in imperfect observation. "Le Commerciel' wishes to inti-
mate that Marie was seized by some gang of low ruffians
not far from her mother's door. 'It is impossible,' it urges,
'that a person so well known to thousands as this young
woman was, should have passed three blocks without some
one having seen her. This is the idea of a man long resi-
dent in Parisma public man—and one whose walks to and
fro in the city have been mostly limited to the vicinity of
the public offices. He is aware that he seldom passes so
far as a dozen blocks from his own bureau, without being
recognized and accosted. And, knowing the extent of his
personal acquaintance with others, and of others with him,
he compares his notoriety with that of the perfumery girl,
finds no great difference between them, and reaches at once
the conclusion that she, in her walks, would be equally lia-
ble to recognition with himself in his. This could only be
the case were her walks of the same unvarying, methodical
character, and within the same species of limited region as
are his own. He passes to and fro, at regular intervals,
within a confined periphery, abounding in individuals who
are led to observation of his person through interest in the
kindred nature of his occupation with their own. But the
walks of Marie may, in general, be supposed discursive. In
this particular instance, it will be understood as most prob-
able, that she proceeded upon a route of more than average
diversity from her accustomed ones. The parallel which we
imagine to have existed in the mind of 'Le Commerciel
would only be sustained in the event of the two individuals
traversing the whole city. In this case, granting the per-
sonal acquaintance to be equal, the chances would be also
equal that an equal number of personal rencontres would
be made. For my own part, I should hold it not only as
possible, but as far more than probable, that Marie might


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
have
foutes beteeting a simn. In
have proceeded, at any given period, by any one of the
many routes between her own residence and that of her
aunt, without meeting a single individual whom she knew,
or by whom she was known. In viewing this question in
its full and proper light, we must hold steadily in mind the
great disproportion between the personal acquaintances of
even the most noted individual in Paris, and the entire pop-
ulation of Paris itself.
"But whatever force there may still appear to be in the
suggestion of 'Le Commerciel,' will be much diminished
when we take into consideration the hour at which the girl
went abroad. 'It was when the streets were full of people,
says 'Le Commerciel,' 'that she went out. But not so. It
was at nine o'clock in the morning. Now at nine o'clock
of every morning in the week, with the exception of Sunday,
the streets of the city are, it is true, thronged with people.
At nine on Sunday, the populace are chiefly within doors
preparing for church. No observing person can have failed
to notice the peculiarly deserted air of the town, from about
eight until ten on the morning of every Sabbath. Between
ten and eleven the streets are thronged, but not at so early
a period as that designated.
“There is another point at which there seems a deficiency
of observation on the part of 'Le Commerciel.' 'A piece,'
it says, 'of one of the unfortunate girl's petticoats, two feet
long, and one foot wide, was torn out and tied under her
chin, and around the back of her head, probably to prevent
screams. This was done by fellows who had no pocket-
handkerchiefs.' Whether this idea is or is not well founded,
we will endeavor to see hereafter; but by 'fellows who have
no pocket-handkerchiefs,' the editor intends the lowest class
of ruffians. These, however, are the very description of
people who will always be found to have handkerchiefs
even when destitute of shirts. You must have had occa-
sion to observe how absolutely indispensable, of late years,
to the thorough blackguard, has become the pocket-hand-
kerchief.”
"And what are we to think,” I asked, "of the article in
'Le Soleil'?”
Vol. 1
73


EDGAR ALLAN POE
“That it is a vast pity its inditer was not born a parrot-
in which case he would have been the most illustrious parrot
of his race. He has merely repeated the individual items of
the already published opinion; collecting them, with a
laudable industry, from this paper and from that. “The
things had all evidently been there,' he says, 'at least three
or four weeks, and there can be no doubt that the spot of
this appalling outrage has been discovered. The facts here
restated by 'Le Soleil are very far indeed from removing
my own doubts upon this subject, and we will examine
them more particularly hereafter in connection with another
division of the theme.
"At present we must occupy ourselves with other inves-
tigations. You can not have failed to remark the extreme
laxity of the examination of the corpse. To be sure, the
question of identity was readily determined, or should have
been; but there were other points to be ascertained. Had
the body been in any respect despoiled? Had the deceased
any articles of jewelry about her person upon leaving home?
If so, had she any when found? These are important ques-
tions utterly untouched by the evidence; and there are
others of equal moment, which have met with no attention.
We must endeavor to satisfy ourselves by personal inquiry,
The case of St. Eustache must be reexamined. I have no
suspicion of this person; but let us proceed methodically,
We will ascertain beyond a doubt the validity of the affidavits
in regard to his whereabouts on the Sunday. Affidavits of
this character are readily made matter of mystification,
Should there be nothing wrong here, however, we will dis-
miss St. Eustache from our investigations. His suicide,
however corroborative of suspicion, were there found to be
deceit in the affidavits, is, without such deceit, in no respect
an unaccountable circumstance, or one which need cause
us to deflect from the line of ordinary analysis.
"In that which I now propose, we will discard the inte-
rior points of this tragedy, and concentrate our attention
upon its outskirts. Not the least usual error in investiga--
tions such as this is the limiting of inquiry to the imme-
diate, with total disregard of the collateral or circumstantial
74


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
events. It is the malpractice of the courts to confine evi.
dence and discussion to the bounds of apparent relevancy,
Yet experience has shown, and a true philosophy will
always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger, portion of
truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant. It is through
the spirit of this principle, if not precisely through its letter,
that modern science has resolved to calculate upon the un-
foreseen. But perhaps you do not comprehend me. The
history of human knowledge has so uninterruptedly shown
that to collateral, or incidental, or accidental events we are
indebted for the most numerous and most valuable discov-
eries, that it has at length become necessary, in prospective
view of improvement, to make not only large, but the largest,
allowances for inventions that shall arise by chance, and
quite out of the range of ordinary expectation. It is no
longer philosophical to base upon what has been a vision
of what is to be. Accident is admitted as a portion of the
substructure. We make chance a matter of absolute calcu-
lation. We subject the unlooked for and unimagined to the
mathematical formulæ of the schools.
“I repeat that it is no more than fact that the larger
portion of all truth has sprung from the collateral; and it
is but in accordance with the spirit of the principle in-
volved in this fact that I would divert inquiry, in the pres-
ent case, from the trodden and hitherto unfruitful ground
of the event itself to the contemporary circumstances which
surround it. While you ascertain the validity of the affida-
vits, I will examine the newspapers more generally than
you have as yet done. So far, we have only reconnoitred
the field of investigation; but it will be strange, indeed, if
a comprehensive survey, such as I propose, of the public
prints will not afford us some minute points which shall
establish a direction for inquiry.”
In pursuance of Dupin's suggestion, I made scrupulous
examination of the affair of the affidavits. The result was
a firm conviction of their validity, and of the consequent
innocence of St. Eustache. In the meantime my friend oc-
cupied himself, with what seemed to me a minuteness alto-
gether objectless, in a scrutiny of the various newspaper
75


EDGAR ALLAN POE
files. At the end of a week he placed before me the follow-
ing extracts:
“About three years and a half ago, a disturbance very
similar to the present was caused by the disappearance of
this same Marie Roget from the parfumerie of Monsieur
Le Blanc, in the Palais Royal. At the end of a week, how-
ever, she reappeared at her customary comptoir, as well
as ever, with the exception of a slight paleness not alto-
gether usual. It was given out by Monsieur Le Blanc and
her mother that she had merely been on a visit to some
friend in the country; and the affair was speedily hushed
up. We presume that the present absence is a freak of the
same nature, and that, at the expiration of a week or, per-
haps, of a month, we shall have her among us again.”-
Evening Paper, Monday, June 23.*
“An evening journal of yesterday refers to a former
mysterious disappearance of Mademoiselle Rogêt. It is well
known that, during the week of her absence from Le Blanc's
parfumerie, she was in the company of a young naval officer
much noted for his debaucheries. A quarrel, it is supposed,
providentially, led to her return home. We have the name
of the Lothario in question, who is at present stationed in
Paris, but for obvious reasons forbear to make it public.”—
“Le Mercurie,” Tuesday Morning, June 24.1
“An outrage of the most atrocious character was per-
petrated near this city the day before yesterday. A gentle-
man, with his wife and daughter, engaged, about dusk, the
services of six young men, who were idly rowing a boat to
and fro near the banks of the Seine, to convey him across
the river. Upon reaching the opposite shore the three pas-
sengers stepped out, and had proceeded so far as to be
beyond the view of the boat, when the daughter discovered
that she had left in it her parasol. She returned for it,
was seized by the gang, carried out into the stream, gagged,
brutally treated, and finally taken to the shore at a point
not far from that at which she had originally entered the
boat with her parents. The villains have escaped for the
* New York "Express."
+ New York "Herald.”
76


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
time, but the police are upon their trail, and some of them
will soon be taken.”—Morning Paper, June 25.*
“We have received one or two communications, the object
of which is to fasten the crime of the late atrocity upon
Mennais †; but as this gentleman has been fully exonerated
by a legal inquiry, and as the arguments of our several cor-
respondents appear to be more zealous than profound, we
do not think it advisable to make them public.”—Morning
Paper, June 28.1
"We have received several forcibly written communica-
tions, apparently from various sources, and which go far to
render it a matter of certainty that the unfortunate Marie
Rogêt has become a victim of one of the numerous bands of
blackguards which infest the vicinity of the city upon Sun-
day. Our own opinion is decidedly in favor of this supposi-
tion. We shall endeavor to make room for some of these
arguments hereafter."-Evening Paper, Tuesday, June 31.§
"On Monday, one of the bargemen connected with the
revenue service saw an empty boat floating down the Seine.
Sails were lying in the bottom of the boat. The bargeman
towed it under the barge office. The next morning it was
taken from thence without the knowledge of any of the
officers. The rudder is now at the barge office.”—“Le Dili-
gence," Thursday, June 26.||
Upon reading these various extracts, they not only seemed
to me irrelevant, but I could perceive no mode in which any
one of them could be brought to bear upon the matter in
hand. I waited for some explanation from Dupin.
"It is not my present design,” he said, "to dwell upon the
first and second of these extracts. I have copied them chiefly
to show you the extreme remissness of the police, who, as
far as I can understand from the Prefect, have not troubled
themselves, in any respect, with an examination of the naval
officer alluded to. Yet it is mere folly to say that between
* New York "Courier and Inquirer."
+ Mennais was one of the parties originally suspected and arrested, but
discharged through total lack of evidence.
# New York "Courier and Inquirer."
$ New York “Evening Post."
New York “Standard."
77


EDGAR ALLAN POE
the first and second disappearance of Marie there is no sup-
posable connection. Let us admit the first elopement to have
resulted in a quarrel between the lovers, and the return home
of the betrayed. We are now prepared to view a second
elopement (if we know that an elopement has again taken
place) as indicating a renewal of the betrayer's advances,
rather than as the result of new proposals by a second indi-
vidual-we are prepared to regard it as a 'making up of the
old amour, rather than as the commencement of a new one.
The chances are ten to one that he who had once eloped
with Marie would again propose an elopement, rather than
that she to whom proposals of an elopement had been made
by one individual should have them made to her by another.
And here let me call your attention to the fact, that the time
elapsing between the first ascertained and the second sup-
posed elopement is a few months more than the general
period of the cruises of our men-of-war. Had the lover
been interrupted in his first villainy by the necessity of de-
parture to sea, and had he seized the first moment of his
return to renew the base designs not yet altogether accom-
plished or not yet altogether accomplished by him? Of all
these things we know nothing.
“You will say, however, that, in the second instance, there
was no elopement as imagined. Certainly not-but are we
prepared to say that there was not the frustrated design?
Beyond St. Eustache, and perhaps Beauvais, we find no rec-
ognized, no open, no honorable suitors of Marie. Of none
other is there anything said. Who, then, is the secret lover,
of whom the relatives (at least most of them) know nothing,
but whom Marie meets upon the morning of Sunday, and who
is so deeply in her confidence that she hesitates not to remain
with him until the shades of the evening descend, amid the
solitary groves of the Barrière du Roule? Who is that
secret lover, I ask, of whom, at least, most of the relatives
know nothing? And what means the singular prophecy of
Madame Roget on the morning of Marie's departure?—'I
fear that I shall never see Marie again.'
"But if we can not imagine Madame Rogết privy to the
design of elopement, may we not at least suppose this
78


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
sign entertained by the girl? Upon quitting home, she gave
it to be understood that she was about to visit her aunt in
the Rue des Drômes, and St. Eustache was requested to call
for her at dark. Now, at first glance, this fact strongly mili.
tates against my suggestion—but let us reflect. That she
did meet some companion, and proceed with him across the
river, reaching the Barrière du Roule at so late an hour
as three o'clock in the afternoon, is known. But in con-
senting so to accompany this individual (for whatever pur-
pose — to her mother known or unknown), she must have
thought of her expressed intention when leaving home, and of
the surprise and suspicion aroused in the bosom of her
affianced suitor, St. Eustache, when, calling for her, at the
hour appointed, in the Rue des Drômes, he should find that
she had not been there, and when, moreover, upon returning
to the pension with this alarming intelligence, he should be-
come aware of her continued absence from home. She must
have thought of these things, I say. She must have foreseen
the chagrin of St. Eustache, the suspicion of all. She could
not have thought of returning to brave this suspicion; but
the suspicion becomes a point of trivial importance to her,
if we suppose her not intending to return.
“We may imagine her thinking thus—'I am to meet a
certain person for the purpose of elopement, or for certain
other purposes known only to myself. It is necessary that
there be no chance of interruption-there must be sufficient
time given us to elude pursuit-I will give it to be under-
stood that I shall visit and spend the day with my aunt at
the Rue des Drômes I will tell St. Eustache not to call for
me until dark—in this way, my absence from home for the
longest possible period, without causing suspicion or anxi-
ety, will be accounted for, and I shall gain more time than in
any other manner. If I bid St. Eustache call for me at dark,
he will be sure not to call before; but if I wholly neglect to
bid him call, my time for escape will be diminished, since
it will be expected that I return the earlier, and my absence
will the sooner excite anxiety. Now, if it were my design to
return at all-if I had in contemplation merely a stroll with
the individual in question—it would not be my policy to bid
79


EDGAR ALLAN POE
St. Eustache call; for calling, he will be sure to ascertain
that I have played him false-a fact of which I might keep
him forever in ignorance, by leaving home without notifying
him of my intention, by returning before dark, and by then
stating that I had been to visit my aunt in the Rue des
Drômes. But, as it is my design never to return-or not for
some weeks-or not until certain concealments are effected-
the gaining of time is the only point about which I need give
myself any concern.'
“You have observed, in your notes, that the most general
opinion in relation to this sad affair is, and was from the
first, that the girl had been the victim of a gang of black-
guards. Now, the popular opinion, under certain conditions,
is not to be disregarded. When arising of itself—when mani-
festing itself in a strictly spontaneous manner-we should
look upon it as analogous with that intuition which is the
idiosyncrasy of the individual man of genius. In ninety-
nine cases from the hundred I would abide by its decision.
But it is important that we find no palpable traces of sug-
gestion. The opinion must be rigorously the public's own;
and the distinction is often exceedingly difficult to perceive
and to maintain. In the present instance, it appears to me
that this 'public opinion,' in respect to a gang, has been super-
induced by the collateral event which is detailed in the third
of my extracts. All Paris is excited by the discovered corpse
of Marie, a girl young, beautiful, and notorious. This corpse
is found bearing marks of violence, and floating in the river.
But it is now made known that, at the very period, or about
the very period, in which it is supposed that the girl was
assassinated, an outrage similar in nature to that endured by
the deceased, although less in extent, was perpetrated by a
gang of young ruffians upon the person of a second young
female. Is it wonderful that the one known atrocity should
influence the popular judgment in regard to the other un-
known? This judgment awaited direction, and the known
outrage seemed so opportunely to afford it! Marie, too, was
found in the river; and upon this very river was this known
outrage committed. The connection of the two events had
about it so much of the palpable, that the true wonder would
80


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
have been a failure of the populace to appreciate and to seize
it. But, in fact, the one atrocity, known to be so committed,
is, if anything, evidence that the other, committed at a time
nearly coincident, was not so committed. It would have
been a miracle if, while a gang of ruffians were perpetrating,
at a given locality, a most unheard-of wrong, there should
have been another similar gang, in a similar locality, in
the same city, under the same circumstances, with the same
means and appliances, engaged in a wrong of precisely the
same aspect, at precisely the same period of time! Yet in
what, if not in this marvelous train of coincidence, does the
accidentally suggested opinion of the populace call upon us
to believe?
“Before proceeding further, let us consider the supposed
scene of the assassination, in the thicket at the Barrière du
Roule. This thicket, although dense, was in the close vicin-
ity of a public road. Within were three or four large stones,
forming a kind of seat with a back and a footstool. On the
upper stone was discovered a white petticoat; on the second,
a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief
were also here found. The handkerchief bore the name
‘Marie Rogêt.' Fragments of dress were seen on the branches
around. The earth was trampled, the bushes were broken,
and there was every evidence of a violent struggle.
“Notwithstanding the acclamation with which the dis-
covery of this thicket was received by the press, and the
unanimity with which it was supposed to indicate the precise
scene of the outrage, it must be admitted that there was some
very good reason for doubt. That it was the scene, I may or
I may not believe-but there was excellent reason for doubt.
Had the true scene been, as 'Le Commerciel suggested, in
the neighborhood of the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, the perpe-
trators of the crime, supposing them still resident in Paris,
would naturally have been stricken with terror at the public
attention thus acutely directed into the proper channel; and,
in certain classes of minds, there would have arisen, at once,
a sense of the necessity of some exertion to redivert this at-
tention. And thus, the thicket of the Barrière du Roule hav-
ing been already suspected, the idea of placing the articles
81


EDGAR ALLAN POE
where they were found might have been naturally enter.
tained. There is no real evidence, although 'Le Soleil so
supposes, that the articles discovered had been more than a
very few days in the thicket; while there is much circumstan-
tial proof that they could not have remained there, without
attracting attention, during the twenty days elapsing be-
tween the fatal Sunday and the afternoon upon which they
were found by the boys. They were all mildewed down
hard,' says 'Le Soleil,' adopting the opinions of its predeces.
sors, 'with the action of the rain and stuck together from
mildew. The grass had grown around and over some of
them. The silk of the parasol was strong, but the threads
of it were run together within. The upper part, where it had
been doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and
tore on being opened.' In respect to the grass having 'grown
around and over some of them,' it is obvious that the fact
could only have been ascertained from the words, and thus
from the recollections, of two small boys; for these boys
removed the articles and took them home before they had
been seen by a third party. But the grass will grow, espe-
cially in warm and damp weather (such as was that of the
period of the murder), as much as two or three inches in a
single day. A parasol lying upon a newly turfed ground,
might, in a single week, be entirely concealed from sight by
the upspringing grass. And touching that mildew upon
which the editor of 'Le Soleil so pertinaciously insists that
he employs the word no less than three times in the brief
paragraph just quoted, is he really unaware of the nature of
this mildew? Is he to be told that it is one of the many
classes of fungus, of which the most ordinary feature is its
upspringing and decadence within twenty-four hours?
“Thus we see, at a glance, that what has been most tri-
umphantly adduced in support of the idea that the articles
had been 'for at least three or four weeks' in the thicket, is
most absurdly null as regards any evidence of that fact. On
the other hand, it is exceedingly difficult to believe that
these articles could have remained in the thicket specified
for a longer period than a single week-for a longer period
than from one Sunday to the next. Those who know any-
82


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
thing of the vicinity of Paris know the extreme difficulty of
finding seclusion, unless at a great distance from its suburbs.
Such a thing as an unexplored or even an unfrequently
visited recess, amid its woods or groves, is not for a
moment to be imagined. Let any one who, being at heart
a lover of nature, is yet chained by duty to the dust and
heat of this great metropolis—let any such one attempt,
even during the week-days, to slake his thirst for solitude
amid the scenes of natural loveliness which immediately sur-
round us. At every second step he will find the growing
charm dispelled by the voice and personal intrusion of some
ruffian or party of carousing blackguards. He will seek
privacy amid the densest foliage, all in vain. Here are the
very nooks where the unwashed most abound-here are the
temples most desecrate. With sickness of the heart the
wanderer will flee back to the polluted Paris as to a less
odious because less incongruous sink of pollution. But if
the vicinity of the city is so beset during the working days
of the week, how much more so on the Sabbath! It is now
especially that, released from the claims of labor, or deprived
of the customary opportunities of crime, the town black-
guard seeks the precincts of the town, not through love of
the rural, which in his heart he despises, but by way of es-
cape from the restraints and conventionalities of society.
He desires less the fresh air and the green trees, than the
utter license of the country. Here, at the roadside inn, or
beneath the foliage of the woods, he indulges unchecked by
any eye except those of his boon companions, in all the mad
excess of a counterfeit hilarity—the joint offspring of lib-
erty and of rum. I say nothing more than what must be
obvious to every dispassionate observer, when I repeat that
the circumstance of the articles in question having remained
undiscovered for a longer period than from one Sunday to
another in any thicket in the immediate neighborhood of
Paris is to be looked upon as little less than miraculous.
"But there are not wanting other grounds for the sus-
picion that the articles were placed in the thicket with the
view of diverting attention from the real scene of the outrage.
And first, let me direct your notice to the date of the dis-
83


EDGAR ALLAN POE
covery of the articles. Collate this with the date of the fifth
extract made by myself from the newspapers. You will find
that the discovery followed, almost immediately, the urgent
communications sent to the evening paper. These communi-
cations, although various, and apparently from various
sources, tended all to the same point-viz.: the directing of
attention to a gang as the perpetrators of the outrage, and
to the neighborhood of the Barrière du Roule as its scene.
Now, here, of course, the situation is not that, in consequence
of these communications, or of the public attention by them
directed, the articles were found by the boys; but the sus-
picion might and may well have been that the articles were
not before found by the boys, for the reason that the articles
had not before been in the thicket; having been deposited
there only at so late a period as at the date, or shortly prior
to the date of the communication, by the guilty authors of
these communications themselves.
“This thicket was a singular—an exceedingly singular one.
It was unusually dense. Within its naturally walled inclo-
sure were three extraordinary stones, forming a seat with a
back and a footstool. And this thicket, so full of art, was in
the immediate vicinity, within a few rods, of the dwelling of
Madame Deluc, whose boys were in the habit of closely exam-
ining the shrubberies about them in search of the bark of
the sassafras. Would it be a rash wager-a wager of one
thousand to one-that a day never passed over the heads
of these boys without finding at least one of them ensconced
in the umbrageous hall, and enthroned upon its natural
throne? Those who would hesitate at such a wager have
either never been boys themselves or have forgotten the boy-
ish nature. I repeat-it is exceedingly hard to comprehend
how the articles could have remained in this thicket undis-
covered for a longer period than one or two days; and that
thus there is good ground for suspicion, in spite of the dog-
matic ignorance of 'Le Soleil,' that they were, at a com-
paratively late date, deposited where found.
"But there are still other and stronger reasons for be-
lieving them so deposited, than any which I have as yet
urged. And, now, let me beg your notice to the highly arti-
84


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
ficial arrangement of the articles. On the upper stone lay
a white petticoat; on the second a silk scarf; scattered
around were a parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief
bearing the name 'Marie Rogêt.' Here is just such an ar-
rangement as would naturally be made by a not overacute
person wishing to dispose the articles naturally. But it is by
no means a really natural arrangement. I should rather
have looked to see the things all lying on the ground and
trampled under foot. In the narrow limits of that bower it
would have been scarcely possible that the petticoat and
scarf should have retained a position upon the stones, when
subjected to the brushing to and fro of many struggling per-
sons. "There was evidence, it is said, ‘of a struggle; and the
earth was trampled, the bushes were broken'-but the petti-
coat and the scarf are found deposited as if upon shelves.
“The pieces of the frock torn out by the bushes were about
three inches wide and six inches long. One part was the .
hem of the frock, and it had been mended. They looked like
strips torn off.' Here, inadvertently, 'Le Soleil has employed
an exceedingly suspicious phrase. The pieces, as described,
do indeed 'look like strips torn off'; but purposely and by
hand. It is one of the rarest of accidents that a piece is 'torn
off,' from any garment such as is now in question, by the
agency of a thorn. From the very nature of such fabrics, a
thorn or nail becoming tangled in them, tears them rectan-
gularly-divides them into two longitudinal rents, at right
angles with each other, and meeting at an apex where the
thorn enters—but it is scarcely possible to conceive the
piece 'torn off. I never so knew it, nor did you. To tear a
piece off from such fabric, two distinct forces, in different
directions, will be, in almost every case, required. If there
be two edges to the fabric-if, for example, it be a pocket-
handkerchief, and it is desired to tear from it a slip, then,
and then only, will the one force serve the purpose. But in
the present case the question is of a dress, presenting but
one edge. To tear a piece from the interior, where no edge
is presented, could only be effected by a miracle through the
agency of thorns, and no one thorn could accomplish it.
But, even where an edge is presented, two thorns will be
85


EDGAR ALLAN POE
necessary, operating, the one in two distinct directions, and
the other in one. And this in the supposition that the edge
is unhemmed. If hemmed, the matter is nearly out of the
question. We thus see the numerous and great obstacles
in the way of pieces being 'torn off' through the simple
agency of 'thorns'; yet we are required to believe not only
that one piece but that many have been so torn. 'And one
part,' too, 'was the hem of the frock! Another piece was
'part of the skirt, not the hem'-that is to say, was torn com-
pletely out, through the agency of thorns, from the unedged
interior of the dress! These, I say, are things which one may
well be pardoned for disbelieving; yet, taken collectedly,
they form, perhaps, less of reasonable ground for suspicion
than the one startling circumstance of the articles having
been left in this thicket at all, by any murderers who had
enough precaution to think of removing the corpse. You
will not have apprehended me rightly, however, if you sup-
pose it my design to deny this thicket as the scene of the
outrage. There might have been a wrong here, or more
possibly an accident at Madame Deluc's. But, in fact, this
is a point of minor importance. We are not engaged in an
attempt to discover the scene, but to produce the perpetrators
of the murder. What I have adduced, notwithstanding the
minuteness with which I have adduced it, has been with the
view, first, to show the folly of the positive and headlong
assertions of 'Le Soleil,' but secondly, and chiefly, to bring
you, by the most natural route, to a further contemplation of
the doubt whether this assassination has, or has not, been the
work of a gang.
“We will resume this question by mere allusion to the
revolting details of the surgeon examined at the inquest. It
is only necessary to say that his published inferences, in re-
gard to the number of the ruffians, have been properly ridi-
culed as unjust and totally baseless, by all the reputable anat-
omists of Paris. Not that the matter might not have been
as inferred, but that there was no ground for the inference-
was there not much for another?
“Let us reflect now upon 'the traces of a struggle'; and
let me ask what these traces have been supposed to demon-
86


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
strate. A gang. But do they not rather demonstrate the
absence of a gang? What struggle could have taken place-
what struggle so violent and so enduring as to have left its
'traces' in all directions between a weak and defenseless
girl and a gang of ruffians imagined? The silent grasp of a
few rough arms and all would have been over. The victim
must have been absolutely passive at their will. You will
here bear in mind that the arguments urged against the
thicket as the scene, are applicable, in chief part, only against
it as the scene of an outrage committed by more than a single
individual. If we imagine but one violator, we can conceive,
and thus only conceive, the struggle of so violent and so ob-
stinate a nature as to have left the 'traces' apparent.
“And again. I have already mentioned the suspicion to be
excited by the fact that the articles in question were suffered
to remain at all in the thicket where discovered. It seems
almost impossible that these evidences of guilt should have
been accidentally left where found. There was sufficient
presence of mind (it is supposed) to remove the corpse; and
yet a more positive evidence than the corpse itself (whose
features might have been quickly obliterated by decay) is
allowed to lie conspicuously in the scene of the outrage-I
allude to the handkerchief with the name of the deceased. If
this was accident, it was not the accident of a gang. We
can imagine it only the accident of an individual. Let us
see. An individual has committed the murder. He is alone
with the ghost of the departed. He is appalled by what lies
motionless before him. The fury of his passion is over, and
there is abundant room in his heart for the natural awe of
the deed. His is none of that confidence which the presence
of numbers inevitably inspires. He is alone with the dead.
He trembles and is bewildered. Yet there is a necessity for
disposing of the corpse. He bears it to the river, and leaves
behind him the other evidences of his guilt; for it is difficult,
if not impossible, to carry all the burden at once, and it will
be easy to return for what is left. But in his toilsome jour-
ney to the water his fears redouble within him. The sounds
of life encompass his path. A dozen times he hears or fancies
he hears the step of an observer. Even the very lights from
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EDGAR ALLAN POE
; the city bewilder him. Yet, in time, and by long and fre-
quent pauses of deep agony, he reaches the river's brink, and
disposes of his ghastly charge-perhaps through the medium
of a boat. But now what treasure does the world hold-
what threat of vengeance could it hold out—which would
have power to urge the return of that lonely murderer over
that toilsome and perilous path, to the thicket and its blood-
chilling recollections? He returns not, let the consequences
be what they may. He could not return if he would. His
sole thought is immediate escape. He turns his back forever
upon those dreadful shrubberies, and flees as from the wrath
to come.
"But how with a gang? Their number would have in-
spired them with confidence; if, indeed, confidence is ever
wanting in the breast of the arrant blackguard; and of arrant
blackguards alone are the supposed gangs ever constituted.
Their number, I say, would have prevented the bewildering
and unreasoning terror which I have imagined to paralyze
the single man. Could we suppose an oversight in one, or
two, or three, this oversight would have been remedied by
a fourth. They would have left nothing behind them; for
their number would have enabled them to carry all at once.
There would have been no need of return.
“Consider now the circumstance that, in the outer garment
of the corpse when found, 'a slip, about a foot wide, had been
torn upward from the bottom hem to the waist, wound three
times round the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the
back.' This was done with the obvious design of affording a
handle by which to carry the body. But would any number
of men have dreamed of resorting to such an expedient? To
three or four, the limbs of the corpse would have afforded
not only a sufficient, but the best possible, hold. The device
is that of a single individual; and this brings us to the fact
that 'between the thicket and the river the rails of the fences
were found taken down, and the ground bore evident traces
of some heavy burden having been dragged along it!' But
would a number of men have put themselves to the super-
fluous trouble of taking down a fence, for the purpose of
I dragging through it a corpse which they might have lifted
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THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
over any fence in an instant? Would a number of men have
so dragged a corpse at all as to have left evident traces of
the dragging?
"And here we must refer to an observation of 'Le Com-
merciel; upon which I have already, in some measure, com-
mented. “A piece,' says this journal, 'of one of the unfortu-
nate girl's petticoats was torn out and tied under her chin,
and around the back of her head, probably to prevent screams.
This was done by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.'
"I have before suggested that a genuine blackguard is
never without a pocket-handkerchief. But it is not to this
fact that I now especially advert. That it was not through
want of a handkerchief for the purpose imagined by 'Le
Commerciel,' that this bandage was employed, is rendered
apparent by the handkerchief left in the thicket; and that
the object was not 'to prevent screams' appears, also, from
the bandage having been employed in preference to what
would so much better have answered the purpose. But the
language of the evidence speaks of the strip in question as
'found around the neck, fitting loosely, and secured with a
hard knot. These words are sufficiently vague, but differ
materially from those of 'Le Commerciel.' The slip was
eighteen inches wide, and therefore, although of muslin,
would form a strong band when folded or rumpled longitu-
dinally. And thus rumpled it was discovered. My inference
is this. The solitary murderer, having borne the corpse for
some distance (whether from the thicket or elsewhere) by
means of the bandage hitched around its middle, found the
weight, in this mode of procedure, too much for his strength.
He resolved to drag the burden—the evidence goes to show
that it was dragged. With this object in view, it became
necessary to attach something like a rope to one of the ex-
tremities. It could be best attached about the neck, where
the head would prevent its slipping off. And now the mur-
derer bethought him, unquestionably, of the bandage about
the loins. He would have used this, but for its volution
about the corpse, the hitch which embarrassed it, and the re-
flection that it had not been 'torn off' from the garment. It
was easier to tear a new slip from the petticoat. He tore it,
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EDGAR ALLAN POE
made it fast about the neck, and so dragged his victim to the
brink of the river. That this 'bandage,' only attainable with
trouble and delay, and but imperfectly answering its purpose
—that this bandage was employed at all, demonstrates that
the necessity for its employment sprang from circumstances
arising at a period when the handkerchief was no longer at-
tainable—that is to say, arising, as we have imagined, after
quitting the thicket (if the thicket it was), and on the road
between the thicket and the river.
“But the evidence, you will say, of Madame Deluc (!)
points especially to the presence of a gang in the vicinity of
the thicket, at or about the epoch of the murder. This I
grant. I doubt if there were not a dozen gangs, such as de-
scribed by Madame Deluc, in and about the vicinity of the
Barrière du Roule at or about the period of this tragedy.
But the gang which has drawn upon itself the pointed ani-
madversion, through the somewhat tardy and very suspicious
evidence, of Madame Deluc, is the only gang which is repre-
sented by that honest and scrupulous old lady as having eaten
her cakes and swallowed her brandy, without putting them-
selves to the trouble of making her payment. Et hinc ille
ira?
"But what is the precise evidence of Madame Deluc?
'A gang of miscreants made their appearance, behaved bois-
terously, ate and drank without making payment, followed in
the route of the young man and the girl, returned to the inn
about dusk, and recrossed the river as if in great haste.'
“Now this 'great haste' very possibly seemed greater
haste in the eyes of Madame Deluc, since she dwelt linger-
ingly and lamentingly upon her violated cakes and ale-cakes
and ale for which she might still have entertained a faint
hope of compensation. Why, otherwise, since it was about
dusk, should she make a point of the haste: It is no cause
for wonder, surely, that even a gang of blackguards should
make haste to get home when a wide river is to be crossed
in small boats, when storm impends, and when night ap-
proaches.
“I say approaches; for the night had not yet arrived. It
was only about dusk that the indecent haste of these 'mis-
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THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
creants' offended the sober eyes of Madame Deluc. But we
are told that it was upon this very evening that Madame De-
luc, as well as her eldest son, 'heard the screams of a female
in the vicinity of the inn. And in what words does Madame
Deluc designate the period of the evening at which these
screams were heard? 'It was soon after dark she says. But
'soon after dark' is, at least, dark; and “about dusk,' is as cer-
tainly daylight. Thus it is abundantly clear that the gang
quitted the Barrière du Roule prior to the screams overheard
(?) by Madame Deluc. And although, in all the many reports
of the evidence, the relative expressions in question are dis-
tinctly and invariably employed just as I have employed
them in this conversation with yourself, no notice whatever of
the gross discrepancy has, as yet, been taken by any of the
public journals, or by any of the myrmidons of police.
"I shall add but one to the arguments against a gang;
but this one has, to my own understanding at least, a weight
altogether irresistible. Under the circumstances of large re-
ward offered, and full pardon to any king's evidence, it is
not to be imagined, for a moment, that some member of a
gang of low ruffians, or of any body of men, would not long
ago have betrayed his accomplices. Each one of a gang, so
placed, is not so much greedy of reward, or anxious for es-
cape, as fearful of betrayal. He betrays eagerly and early
that he may not himself be betrayed. That the secret has
not been divulged is the very best of proof that it is, in fact,
a secret. The horrors of this dark deed are known only to
one or two living human beings, and to God.
“Let us sum up now the meagre yet certain fruits of our
long analysis. We have attained the idea either of a fatal
accident under the roof of Madame Deluc, or of a murder
perpetrated, in the thicket at the Barrière du Roule, by a
lover, or at least by an intimate and secret associate of the
deceased. This associate is of swarthy complexion. This com-
plexion, the 'hitch' in the bandage, and the 'sailor's knot with
which the bonnet-ribbon is tied, point to a seaman. His
companionship with the deceased—a gay but not an abject
young girl-designates him as above the grade of the com-
mon sailor. Here the well-written and urgent communica-
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EDGAR ALLAN POE
tions to the journals are much in the way of corroboration.
The circumstance of the first elopement, as mentioned by 'Le
Mercurie,' tends to blend the idea of this seaman with that
of the 'naval officer' who is first known to have led the unfor-
tunate into crime.
"And here, most fitly, comes the consideration of the con-
tinued absence of him of the dark complexion. Let me pause
to observe that the complexion of this man is dark and
swarthy; it was no common swarthiness which constituted
the sole point of remembrance, both as regards Valence and
Madame Deluc. But why is this man absent? Was he mur-
dered by the gang? If so, why are there only traces of the
assassinated girlThe scene of the two outrages will natu-
rally be supposed identical. And where is his corpse? The
assassins would most probably have disposed of both in the
same way. But it may be said that this man lives, and is
deterred from making himself known, through dread of being
charged with the murder. This consideration might be sup-
posed to operate upon him now-at this late period-since
it has been given in evidence that he was seen with Marie,
but it would have had no force at the period of the deed.
The first impulse of an innocent man would have been to
announce the outrage, and to aid in identifying the ruffians.
This policy would have suggested. He had been seen with
the girl. He had crossed the river with her in an open ferry-
boat. The denouncing of the assassins would have appeared,
even to an idiot, the surest and sole means of relieving him-
self from suspicion. We can not suppose him, on the night
of the fatal Sunday, both innocent himself and incognizant
of an outrage committed. Yet only under such circumstances
is it possible to imagine that he would have failed, if alive,
in the denouncement of the assassins.
“And what means are ours of attaining the truth? We
shall find these means multiplying and gathering distinct-
ness as we proceed. Let us sift to the bottom this affair
of the first elopement. Let us know the full history of 'the
officer,' with his present circumstances, and his whereabout
at the precise period of the murder. Let us carefully com-
pare with each other the various communications sent to the
92


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
evening paper, in which the object was to inculpate a gang.'
This done, let us compare these communications, both as
regards style and MS., with those sent to the morning paper,
at a previous period, and insisting so vehemently upon the
guilt of Mennais. And, all this done, let us again compare
these various communications with the known MSS. of the
officer. Let us endeavor to ascertain, by repeated question-
ings of Madame Deluc and her boys, as well as of the omni-
bus-driver, Valence, something more of the personal appear.
ance and bearing of the 'man of dark complexion.' Queries,
skilfully directed, will not fail to elicit, from some of these
parties, information on this particular point (or upon others)
-information which the parties themselves may not even be
aware of possessing. And let us now trace the boat picked
up by the bargeman on the morning of Monday the twenty-
third of June, and which was removed from the barge-office,
without the cognizance of the officer in attendance, and with-
out the rudder, at some period prior to the discovery of the
corpse. With a proper caution and perseverance we shall
infallibly trace this boat; for not only can the bargeman who
picked it up identify it, but the rudder is at hand. The rud-
der of a sail boat would not have been abandoned, without
inquiry, by one altogether at ease in heart. And here let me
pause to insinuate a question. There was no advertisement
of the picking up of this boat. It was silently taken to the
barge-office and as silently removed. But its owner or em-
ployer-how happened he, at so early a period as Tuesday
morning, to be informed, without the agency of advertise-
ment, of the locality of the boat taken up on Monday, unless
we imagine some connection with the navy-some personal
permanent connection leading to cognizance of its minute
interests—its petty local news?
“In speaking of the lonely assassin dragging his burden
to the shore, I have already suggested the probability of his
availing himself of a boat. Now we are to understand that
Marie Rogêt was precipitated from a boat. This would natu-
rally have been the case. The corpse could not have been
trusted to the shallow waters of the shore. The peculiar
marks on the back and shoulders of the victim tell of the
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EDGAR ALLAN POE
bottom ribs of a boat. That the body was found without
weight is also corroborative of the idea. If thrown from the
shore a weight would have been attached. We can only
account for its absence by supposing the murderer to have
neglected the precaution of supplying himself with it before
pushing off. In the act of consigning the corpse to the
water, he would unquestionably have noticed his oversight;
but then no remedy would have been at hand. Any risk
would have been preferred to a return to that accursed shore.
Having rid himself of his ghastly charge, the murderer would
have hastened to the city. There, at some obscure wharf,
he would have leaped on land. But the boat-would he have
secured it? He would have been in too great haste for such
things as securing a boat. Moreover, in fastening it to the
wharf, he would have felt as if securing evidence against
himself. His natural thought would have been to cast from
him, as far as possible, all that had held connection with his
crime. He would not only have fled from the wharf, but he
would not have permitted the boat to remain. Assuredly he
would have cast it adrift. Let us pursue our fancies. In the
morning, the wretch is stricken with unutterable horror at
finding that the boat has been picked up and detained at a
locality which he is in the daily habit of frequenting—at a
locality, perhaps, which his duty compels him to frequent.
The next night, without daring to ask for the rudder, he re-
moves it. Now where is that rudderless boat? Let it be one
of our first purposes to discover. With the first glimpse we
obtain of it, the dawn of our success shall begin. This boat
shall guide us, with a rapidity which will surprise even our-
selves, to him who employed it in the midnight of the fatal
Sabbath. Corroboration will rise upon corroboration, and
the murderer will be traced.”
[For reasons which we shall not specify, but which to
many readers will appear obvious, we have taken the liberty
of here omitting, from the MSS. placed in our hands, such
portion as details the following up of the apparently slight
clue obtained by Dupin. We feel it advisable only to state,
in brief, that the result desired was brought to pass; and that
the Prefect fulfilled punctually, although with reluctance, the
94


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET
terms of his compact with the Chevalier. Mr. Poe's article
concludes with the following words.-Eds.*]
It will be understood that I speak of coincidences and no
more. What I have said above upon this topic must suffice.
In my own heart there dwells no faith in preternature. That
Nature and its God are two, no man who thinks will deny.
That the latter, creating the former, can, at will, control
or modify it, is also un questionable. I say "at will"; for
the question is of will, and not, as the insanity of logic has
assumed, of power. It is not that the Deity can not modify
his laws, but that we insult him in imagining a possible
necessity for modification. In their origin these laws were
fashioned to embrace all contingencies which could lie in
the Future. With God all is Now.
I repeat, then, that I speak of these things only as of
coincidences. And further: in what I relate it will be seen
that between the fate of the unhappy Mary Cecilia Rogers,
so far as that fate is known, and the fate of one Marie Rogêt
up to a certain epoch in her history, there has existed a
parallel in the contemplation of whose wonderful exactitude
the reason becomes embarrassed. I say all this will be seen.
But let it not for a moment be supposed that, in proceeding
with the sad narrative of Marie from the epoch just men-
tioned, and in tracing to its denouement the mystery which
enshrouded her, it is my covert design to hint at an extension
of the parallel, or even to suggest that the measures adopted
in Paris for the discovery of the assassin of a grisette, or
measures founded in any similar ratiocination, would produce
any similar result.
For, in respect to the latter branch of the supposition, it
should be considered that the most trifling variation in the
facts of the two cases might give rise to the most important
miscalculations, by diverting thoroughly the two courses of
events; very much as, in arithmetic, an error which, in its
own individuality, may be inappreciable, produces, at length,
by dint of multiplication at all points of the process, a result
enormously at variance with truth. And, in regard to the
former branch, we must not fail to hold in view that the
* Of the Magazine in which the article was originally published.
95


EDGAR ALLAN POE
very Calculus of Probabilities to which I have referred, for-
bids all idea of the extension of the parallel-forbids it with
a positiveness strong and decided just in proportion as this
parallel has already been long-drawn and exact. This is one
of those anomalous propositions which, seemingly appealing
to thought altogether apart from the mathematical, is yet
one which only the mathematician can fully entertain. Noth-
ing, for example, is more difficult than to convince the merely
general reader that the fact of sixes having been thrown
twice in succession by a player at dice, is sufficient cause for
betting the largest odds that sixes will not be thrown in the
third attempt. A suggestion to this effect is usually rejected
by the intellect at once. It does not appear that the two
throws which have been completed, and which lie now abso-
lutely in the Past, can have influence upon the throw which
exists only in the Future. The chance for throwing sixes
seems to be precisely as it was at any ordinary time-that
is to say, subject only to the influence of the various other
throws which may be made by the dice. And this is a reflec.
tion which appears so exceedingly obvious that attempts to
controvert it are received more frequently with a derisive
smile than with anything like respectful attention. The error
here involved—a gross error redolent of mischief-I can not
pretend to expose within the limits assigned me at present;
with the philosophical it needs no exposure. It may be suffi-
cient here to say that it forms one of an infinite series of
mistakes which arise in the path of Reason through her
propensity for seeking truth in detail.
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THE PURLOINED LETTER
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE
3
$
This story, as may be seen from the opening
paragraph, also concerns itself with that re.
markable detective, M. Dupin.
Edmund Clarence Stedman considers it
superior to the two stories that precede it, but
Brander Matthews says that nothing better
of their kind has ever been done than “The
Murders in the Rue Morgue” and “The Pur-
loined Letter"; thus awarding equal praise
to the first story and the third story.
Vol. I





THE PURLOINED LETTER
By EDGAR ALLAN POE
Nil sapientiae odiosius acumine nimio.-Seneca
PT Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the
autumn of 18 I was enjoying the twofold luxury
of meditation and a meerschaum, in company with
my friend, C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back
library, or book-closet, au troisieme, No. 33 Rue Dunot, Fau.
bourg St. Germain. For one hour at least we had maintained
a profound silence; while each, to any casual observer, might
have seemed intently and exclusively occupied with the curl-
ing eddies of smoke that oppressed the atmosphere of the
chamber. For myself, however, I was mentally discussing
certain topics which had formed matter for conversation be-
tween us at an earlier period of the evening; I mean the affair
of the Rue Morgue, and the mystery attending the murder
of Marie Rogêt. I looked upon it, therefore, as something of
a coincidence, when the door of our apartment was thrown
open and admitted our old acquaintance, Monsieur G
the Prefect of the Parisian police.
We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly
half as much of the entertaining as of the contemptible
about the man, and we had not seen him for several years.
We had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin now arose for
the purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down again, without
doing so, upon G 's saying that he had called to con-
sult us, or rather to ask the opinion of my friend, abou“.
some official business which had occasioned a great deal of
trouble.
"If it is any point requiring reflection," observed Dupin,
as he forebore to enkindle the wick, "we shall examine it to
better purpose in the dark.”
"That is another of your odd notions,” said the Prefect,
who had the fashion of calling everything "odd” that was
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EDGAR ALLAN POE
beyond his comprehension, and thus lived amid an absolute
legion of "oddities.”
“Very true,” said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor with
a pipe, and rolled toward him a comfortable chair.
“And what is the difficulty now?" I asked. “Nothing
more in the assassination way, I hope?"
"Oh, no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the busi-
ness is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can
manage it sufficiently well ourselves; but then I thought
Dupin would like to hear the details of it, because it is so
excessively odd.”
"Simple and odd!” said Dupin.
“Why, yes; and not exactly that either. The fact is, we
have all been a good deal puzzled because the affair is so
simple, and yet baffles us altogether.”
"Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts
you at fault," said my friend.
“What nonsense you do talk!" replied the Prefect, laugh-
ing heartily.
"Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain,” said Dupin.
“Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an idea ?”
“A little too self-evident.”
“Ha! ha! ha!—ha! ha! ha!-ho! ho! ho!” roared our vis-
itor, profoundly amused, “oh, Dupin, you will be the death
of me yet!"
“And what, after all, is the matter on hand?" I asked.
"Why, I will tell you," replied the Prefect, as he gave a
long, steady, and contemplative puff, and settled himself in
his chair. “I will tell you in a few words; but, before I be.
gin, let me caution you that this is an affair demanding the
greatest secrecy, and that I should most probably lose the
position I now hold, were it known that I confided it to
any one.”
“Proceed,” said I.
"Or not,” said Dupin.
"Well, then; I have received personal information, from
a very high quarter, that a certain document of the last im-
portance has been purloined from the royal apartments. The
individual who purloined it is known; this beyond a doubt;
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THE PURLOINED LETTER
he was seen to take it. It is known, also, that it still remains
in his possession.”
“How is this known?" asked Dupin.
"It is clearly inferred," replied the Prefect, "from the
nature of the document, and from the non-appearance of
certain results which would at once arise from its passing
out of the robber's possession--that is to say, from his em-
ploying it as he must design in the end to employ it."
“Be a little more explicit," I said.
“Well, I may venture so far as to say that the paper
gives its holder a certain power in a certain quarter where
such power is immensely valuable.” The Prefect was fond
of the cant of diplomacy.
“Still I do not quite understand," said Dupin.
"No? Well; the disclosure of the document to a third
person, who shall be nameless, would bring in question the
honor of a personage of most exalted station; and this fact
gives the holder of the document an ascendency over the
illustrious personage whose honor and peace are so jeopard-
ized.”
“But this ascendency," I interposed, "would depend upon
the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the rob-
ber. Who would dare-".
"The thief,” said G , "is the Minister D- who dares
all things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming a
man. The method of the theft was not less ingenious than
bold. The document in question a letter, to be frank-had
been received by the personage robbed while alone in the royal
boudoir. During its perusal she was suddenly interrupted
by the entrance of the other exalted personage from whom
especially it was her wish to conceal it. After a hurried and
vain endeavor to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced to
place it, open as it was, upon a table. The address, how-
ever, was uppermost, and, the contents thus unexposed, the
letter escaped notice. At this juncture enters the Minister
D- His lynx eye immediately perceives the paper, rec-
ognizes the handwriting of the address, observes the confu-
sion of the personage addressed, and fathoms her secret.
After some business transactions, hurried through in his ordi-
IOI


EDGAR ALLAN POE
nary manner, he produces a letter somewhat similar to the
one in question, opens it, pretends to read it, and then places
it in close juxtaposition to the other. Again he converses,
for some fifteen minutes, upon the public affairs. At length,
in taking leave, he takes also from the table the letter to
which he had no claim. Its rightful owner saw, but, of
course, dared not call attention to the act, in the presence of
the third personage who stood at her elbow. The minister
decamped; leaving his own letter-one of no importance-
upon the table."
“Here, then,” said Dupin to me, "you have precisely what
you demand to make the ascendency complete—the robber's
knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber.”
“Yes," replied the Prefect; "and the power thus attained
has, for some months past, been wielded, for political pur-
poses, to a very dangerous extent. The personage robbed
is more thoroughly convinced, every day, of the necessity
of reclaiming her letter. But this, of course, can not be done
openly. In fine, driven to despair, she has committed the
matter to me.”
“Than whom,” said Dupin, amid a perfect whirlwind of
smoke, "no more sagacious agent could, I suppose, be de-
sired, or even imagined.”
“You flatter me," replied the Prefect; "but it is possible
that some such opinion may have been entertained."
"It is clear,” said I, “as you observe, that the letter is
still in the possession of the minister; since it is this pos-
session, and not any employment of the letter, which be-
stows the power. With the employment the power departs."
"True," said G- ; "and upon this conviction I proceeded.
My first care was to make thorough search of the minis-
ter's hotel; and here my chief embarrassment lay in the neces-
sity of searching without his knowledge. Beyond all things,
I have been warned of the danger which would result from
giving him reason to suspect our design.”
"But,” said I, "you are quite au fait in these investiga-
tions. The Parisian police have done this thing often
before.”
"Oh, yes; and for this reason I did not despair. The
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THE PURLOINED LETTER
habits of the minister gave me, too, a great advantage. He
is frequently absent from home all night. His servants are
by no means numerous. They sleep at a distance from their
master's apartment, and, being chiefly Neapolitans, are
readily made drunk. I have keys, as you know, with which
I can open any chamber or cabinet in Paris. For three
months a night has not passed, during the greater part of
which I have not been engaged, personally, in ransacking the
D- Hotel. My honor is interested, and, to mention a
great secret, the reward is enormous. So I did not abandon
the search until I had become fully satisfied that the thief
is a more astute man than myself. I fancy that I have in-
vestigated every nook and corner of the premises in which
it is possible that the paper can be concealed.”
“But is it not possible," I suggested, “that although the
letter may be in possession of the minister, as it unques-
tionably is, he may have concealed it elsewhere than upon
his own premises?”
“This is barely possible,” said Dupin. “The present pe-
culiar condition of affairs at court, and especially of those
intrigues in which D
i s known to be involved, would
render the instant availability of the document-its sus-
ceptibility of being produced at a moment's notice-a point
of nearly equal importance with its possession."
"Its susceptibility of being produced?” said I.
“That is to say, of being destroyed,” said Dupin.
“True," I observed; "the paper is clearly then upon the
premises. As for its being upon the person of the minister,
we may consider that as out of the question."
“Entirely,” said the Prefect. “He has been twice way-
laid, as if by footpads, and his person rigidly searched under
my own inspection.”
"You might have spared yourself this trouble,” said
Dupin. “D— I presume, is not altogether a fool, and, if
not, must have anticipated these waylayings, as a matter of
course."
"Not altogether a fool,” said G- , “but then he is a poet,
which I take to be only one remove from a fool.”
“True,” said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful whiff
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EDGAR ALLAN POE
from his meerschaum, "although I have been guilty of cer-
tain doggerel myself.”
"Suppose you detail,” said I, "the particulars of your
search.”
“Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we searched
everywhere. I have had long experience in these affairs.
I took the entire building, room by room; devoting the
nights of a whole week to each. We examined, first, the
furniture of each department. We opened every possible
drawer; and I presume you know that, to a properly trained
police-agent, such a thing as a 'secret drawer is impossible.
Any man is a dolt who permits a 'secret drawer to escape
him in a search of this kind. The thing is so plain. There
is a certain amount of bulk-of space—to be accounted for
in every cabinet. Then we have accurate rules. The fiftieth
part of a line could not escape us. After the cabinets we
took the chairs. The cushions we probed with the fine long
needles you have seen me employ. From the tables we re-
moved the tops.”
“Why so?”
"Sometimes the top of a table, or other similarly arranged
piece of furniture, is removed by the person wishing to con-
ceal an article; then the leg is excavated, the article deposited
within the cavity, and the top replaced. The bottoms and
tops of bedposts are employed in the same way.”
"But could not the cavity be detected by sounding?” I
asked.
"By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a suffi-
cient wadding of cotton be placed around it. Besides, in our
case, we were obliged to proceed without noise.”
“But you could not have removed—you could not have
taken to pieces all articles of furniture in which it would
have been possible to make a deposit in the manner you
mention. A letter may be compressed into a thin spiral roll,
not differing much in shape or bulk from a large knitting-
needle, and in this form it might be inserted into the rung of
a chair, for example. You did not take to pieces all the
chairs?"
"Certainly not; but we did better-we examined the rungs
104


THE PURLOINED LETTER
of every chair in the hotel, and, indeed, the jointings of every
description of furniture, by the aid of a most powerful mi-
croscope. Had there been any traces of recent disturbance
we should not have failed to detect it instantly. A single
grain of gimlet-dust, for example, would have been as
obvious as an apple. Any disorder in the gluing-any
unusual gaping in the joints—would have sufficed to ensure
detection."
"I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boards
and the plates, and you probed the beds and the bedclothes,
as well as the curtains and carpets.”
"That of course; and when we had absolutely completed
every particle of the furniture in this way, then we examined
the house itself. We divided its entire surface into compart-
ments, which we numbered, so that none might be missed;
then we scrutinized each individual square inch throughout
the premises, including the two houses immediately adjoin-
ing, with the microscope, as before.”
“The two houses adjoining!” I exclaimed; "you must have
had a great deal of trouble."
“We had; but the reward offered is prodigious."
“You include the ground about the houses?"
“All the grounds are paved with brick. They gave us
comparatively little trouble. We examined the moss be-
tween the bricks, and found it undisturbed.”
"You looked among D- 's papers, of course, and into
the books of the library?".
“Certainly; we opened every package and parcel; we not
only opened every book, but we turned over every leaf in
each volume, not contenting ourselves with a mere shake,
according to the fashion of some of our police officers. We
also measured the thickness of every book-cover, with the
most accurate admeasurement, and applied to each the most
jealous scrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bind-
ings been recently meddled with, it would have been utterly
impossible that the fact should have escaped observation.
Some five or six volumes, just from the hands of the binder,
we carefully probed, longitudinally, with the needles.”
"You explored the floors beneath the carpets?"
105


EDGAR ALLAN POE
“Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and examined
the boards with the microscope."
"And the paper on the walls?"
“Yes."
“You looked into the cellars?"
“We did.”
“Then,” I said, "you have been making a miscalculation,
and the letter is not upon the premises, as you suppose."
"I fear you are right there," said the Prefect. “And now,
Dupin, what would you advise me to do?”
“To make a thorough research of the premises."
“That is absolutely needless," replied
“I am not
more sure that I breathe than I am that the letter is not at
the hotel.”
“I have no better advice to give you," said Dupin. “You
have, of course, an accurate description of the letter?”
"Oh, yes!” —And here the Prefect, producing a memo-
randum-book, proceeded to read aloud a minute account of
the internal, and especially of the external appearance of
the missing document. Soon after finishing the perusal
of this description, he took his departure, more entirely
depressed in spirits than I had ever known the good
gentleman before.
In about a month afterward he paid us another visit,
and found us occupied very nearly as before. He took a pipe
and a chair and entered into some ordinary conversation.
At length I said:
"Well, but, G- , what of the purloined letter? I pre-
sume you have at last made up your mind that there is no
such thing as overreaching the minister?”
“Confound him, say I-yes; I made the reexamination,
however, as Dupin suggested—but it was all labor lost, as I
knew it would be."
“How much was the reward offered, did you say?" asked
Dupin.
“Why, a very great deal—a very liberal reward—I don't
like to say how much, precisely; but one thing I will say,
that I wouldn't mind giving my individual check for fifty
thousand francs to any one who could obtain me that letter.
106


THE PURLOINED LETTER
The fact is, it is becoming of more and more importance
every day; and the reward has been lately doubled. If it
were trebled, however, I could do no more than I have done.”
"Why, yes,” said Dupin, drawlingly between the whiffs
of his meerschaum, “I really—think, G- , you have not
exerted yourself—to the utmost in this matter. You might
-do a little more, I think, eh?”
"How?-in what way?"
“Why-puff, puff--you might-puff, puff-employ counsel.
in the matter, eh?-puff, puff, puff. Do you remember the
story they tell of Abernethy?”.
“No; hang Abernethy!"
“To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once upon a
time, a certain rich miser conceived the design of sponging
upon this Abernethy for a medical opinion. Getting up, for
this purpose, an ordinary conversation in a private company,
he insinuated his case to the physician, as that of an im-
aginary individual.
“'We will suppose,' said the miser, 'that his symptoms
are such and such; now, doctor, what would you have di-
rected him to take?'
“ 'Take!' said Abernethy, 'why, take advice to be sure.”
"But,” said the Prefect, a little discomposed, “I am per-
fectly willing to take advice, and to pay for it. I would really
give fifty thousand francs to any one who would aid me in
the matter."
"In that case," replied Dupin, opening a drawer, and pro-
ducing a check-book, "you may as well fill me up a check for
the amount mentioned. When you have signed it, I will
hand you the letter.”
I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely
thunder-stricken. For some minutes he remained speechless
and motionless, looking incredulously at my friend, with open
mouth and eyes that seemed starting from their sockets;
then apparently recovering himself in some measure, he
seized a pen, and after several pauses and vacant stares,
finally filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs,
and handed it across the table to Dupin. The latter ex-
amined it carefully and deposited it in his pocket-book; then,
107


EDGAR ALLAN POE
unlocking an escritoire, took thence a letter and gave it to
the Prefect. This functionary grasped it in a perfect agony
of joy, opened it with a trembling hand, cast a rapid glance
at its contents, and then scrambling and struggling to the
door, rushed at length unceremoniously from the room and
from the house, without having uttered a syllable since
Dupin had requested him to fill up the check
When he had gone, my friend entered into some explana-
tions.
“The Parisian police,” he said, "are exceedingly able in
their way. They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, and
thoroughly versed in the knowledge which their duties seem
chiefly to demand. Thus, when G- detailed to us his mode
of searching the premises at the Hotel D , I felt entire
confidence in his having made a satisfactory investigation-
so far as his labors extended.”
"So far as his labors extended?” said I.
“Yes,” said Dupin. “The measures adopted were not only
the best of their kind, but carried out to absolute perfec-
tion. Had the letter been deposited within the range of
their search, these fellows would, beyond a question, have
found it."
I merely laughed—but he seemed quite serious in all that
he said.
"The measures, then,” he continued, “were good in their
kind, and well executed; their defect lay in their being inap-
plicable to the case and to the man. A certain set of highly
ingenious resources are, with the Prefect, a sort of Procrus-
tean bed, to which he forcibly adapts his designs. But he
perpetually errs by being too deep or too shallow for the
matter in hand; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner
than he. I knew one about eight years of age, whose suce
cess at guessing in the game of 'even and odd' attracted uni-
versal admiration. This game is simple, and is played with
marbles. One player holds in his hand a number of these
toys, and demands of another whether that number is even
or odd. If the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong,
he loses one. The boy to whom I allude won all the marbles
of the school. Of course he had some principle of guessing;
108


THE PURLOINED LETTER
and this lay in mere observation and admeasurement of the
astuteness of his opponents. For example, an arrant simple-
ton is his opponent, and holding up his closed hand, asks,
'Are they even or odd?' Our schoolboy replies, 'Odd,' and
loses; but upon the second trial he wins, for he then says
to himself: "The simpleton had them even upon the first
trial, and his amount of cunning is just sufficient to make
him have them odd upon the second; I will therefore guess
odd';—he guesses odd, and wins. Now, with a simpleton
a degree above the first, he would have reasoned thus: "This
fellow finds that in the first instance I guessed odd, and, in
the second, he will propose to himself, upon the first im-
pulse, a simple variation from even to odd, as did the first
simpleton; but then a second thought will suggest that this
is too simple a variation, and finally he will decide upon put-
ting it even as before. I will therefore guess even’;-he
guesses even, and wins. Now this mode of reasoning in the
school-boy, whom his fellows termed 'lucky'-what, in its
last analysis, is it?" .
“It is merely,” I said, “an identification of the reasoner's
intellect with that of his opponent."
“It is,” said Dupin; "and, upon inquiring of the boy by
what means he effected the thorough identification in which
his success consisted, I received answer as follows: 'When I
wish to find out how wise, or how stupid, or how good, or
how wicked is any one, or what are his thoughts at the mo-
ment, I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately as
possible, in accordance with the expression of his, and then
wait to see what thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or
heart, as if to match or correspond with the expression. This
response of the schoolboy lies at the bottom of all the
spurious profundity which has been attributed to Rochefou-
cauld, to La Bougive, to Machiavelli, and to Campanella.”
“And the identification,” I said, "of the reasoner's intel-
lect with that of his opponent depends, if I understand you
aright, upon the accuracy with which the opponent's intellect
is admeasured.”
“For its practical value it depends upon this,” replied
Dupin; "and the Prefect and his cohort fail so frequently,
109


EDGAR ALLAN POE
first by default of this identification, and, secondly, by ill-
admeasurement, or rather through non-admeasurement, of
the intellect with which they are engaged. They consider
only their own ideas of ingenuity; and, in searching for any-
thing hidden advert only to the modes in which they would
have hidden it. They are right in this much that their own
ingenuity is a faithful representative of that of the mass; but
when the cunning of the individual felon is diverse in char-
acter from their own, the felon foils them, of course. This
always happens when it is above their own, and very usually
when it is below. They have no variation of principle in
their investigations; at best, when urged by some unusual
emergency-by some extraordinary reward-they extend or
exaggerate their old modes of practise, without touching their
principles. What, for example, in this case of D- , has
been done to vary the principle of action? What is all this
boring, and probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing with the
microscope, and dividing the surface of the building into
registered square inches-what is it all but an exaggeration
of the application of the one principle or set of principles of
search, which are based upon the one set of notions regard-
ing human ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the long rou-
tine of his duty, has been accustomed? Do you not see he
has taken it for granted that all men proceed to conceal a
letter, not exactly in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg, but,
at least, in some out-of-the-way hole or corner suggested by
the same tenor of thought which would urge a man to
secrete a letter in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg? And
do you not see also that such recherche nooks for conceal-
ment are adapted only for ordinary occasions, and would
be adopted only by ordinary intellects; for, in all cases of
concealment, a disposal of the article concealed—a disposal
of it in this recherche manner-is in the very first instance
presumable and presumed; and thus its discovery depends,
not at all upon the acumen, but altogether upon the care,
patience, and determination of the seekers; and where the
case is of importance-or, what amounts to the same thing
in the political eyes, when the reward is of magnitude—the
qualities in question have never been known to fail. You
IIO


THE PURLOINED LETTER
will now understand what I meant in suggesting that, had
the purloined letter been hidden anywhere within the limits
of the Prefect's examination—in other words, had the prin-
ciple of its concealment been comprehended within the prin-
ciples of the Prefect-its discovery would have been a matter
altogether beyond question. This functionary, however, has
been thoroughly mystified; and the remote source of his de-
feat lies in the supposition that the minister is a fool, be-
cause he has acquired renown as a poet. All fools are poets;
this the Prefect feels; and he is merely guilty of a non
distributio medii in thence inferring that all poets are
fools.”
"But is this really the poet?” I asked. “There are two
brothers, I know; and both have attained reputation in let-
ters. The minister, I believe, has written learnedly on
the Differential Calculus. He is a mathematician, and no
poet.”
"You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. As poet
and mathematician, he would reason well; as mere mathema-
tician, he could not have reasoned at all, and thus would have
been at the mercy of the Prefect."
“You surprise me," I said, "by these opinions, which have
been contradicted by the voice of the world. You do not
mean to set at naught the well-digested idea of centuries.
The mathematical reason has long been regarded as the
reason par excellence.
“'Il y a a parier,'” replied Dupin, quoting from Cham-
fort, “que toute idee publique, toute convention recue, est
une sottise, car elle a convenue au plus grand nombre.' The
mathematicians, I grant you, have done their best to promul-
gate the popular error to which you allude, and which is
none the less an error for its promulgation as truth. With
an art worthy a better cause, for example, they have insinu-
ated the term 'analysis' into application to algebra. The
French are the originators of this particular deception; but
if a term is of any importance-if words derive any value
from applicability-then 'analysis" conveys 'algebra' about
as much as, in Latin, 'ambitus' implies 'ambition,' 'religio'
'religion,' or 'homines honesti a set of honorable men.”
III


EDGAR ALLAN POE
“You have a quarrel on hand, I see,” said I, “with some
of the algebraists of Paris; but proceed.”
“I dispute the availability, and thus the value, of that
reason which is cultivated in any special form other than
the abstractly logical. I dispute, in particular, the reason
educed by mathematical study. The mathematics are the
science of form and quantity; mathematical reasoning is
merely logic applied to observation upon form and quan.
tity. The great error lies in supposing that even the
truths of what is called pure algebra are abstract or gen-
eral truths. And this error is so egregious that I am con-
founded at the universality with which it has been received.
Mathematical axioms are not axioms of general truth.
What is true of relation-of form and quantity-is often
grossly false in regard to morals, for example. In this
latter science it is very usually untrue that the aggregated
parts are equal to the whole. In chemistry also the axiom
fails. In the consideration of motive it fails; for two mo.
tives, each of a given value, have not, necessarily, a value
when united, equal to the sum of their values apart. There
are numerous other mathematical truths which are only
truths within the limits of relation. But the mathematician
argues from his finite truths, through habit, as if they were
of an absolutely general applicability-as the world indeed
imagines them to be.
"Bryant, in his very learned 'Mythology,' mentions an
analogous source of error, when he says that although.
the pagan fables are not believed, yet we forget our-
selves continually, and make inferences from them as ex-
isiting realities. With the algebraists, however, who are
pagans themselves, the 'pagan fables' are believed, and
the inferences are made, not so much through lapse of mem-
ory as through an unaccountable addling of the brains. In
short, I never yet encountered the mere mathematician who
could be trusted out of equal roots, or one who did not clan-
destinely hold it as a point of his faith that x? +px was ab-
solutely and unconditionally equal to q. Say to one of these
gentlemen, by way of experiment, if you please, that you
believe occasions may occur where x'+px is not altogether
112


THE PURLOINED LETTER
equal to 9, and, having made him understand what you
mean, get out of his reach as speedily as convenient, for,
beyond doubt, he will endeavor to knock you down.
"I mean to say," continued Dupin, while I merely laughed
at his last observations, "that if the minister had been no
more than a mathematician, the Prefect would have been
under no necessity of giving me this check. I knew him,
however, as both mathematician and poet, and my measures
were adapted to his capacity, with reference to the circum-
stances by which he was surrounded. I knew him as a cour-
tier, too, and as a bold intriguant. Such a man, I considered,
could not fail to be aware of the ordinary political modes of
action. He could not have failed to anticipate-and events
have proved that he did not fail to anticipate—the waylay-
ings to which he was subjected. He must have foreseen, I
reflected, the secret investigations of his premises. His fre-
quent absences from home at night, which were hailed by
the Prefect as certain aids to his success, I regarded only
as ruses, to afford opportunity for thorough search to the
police, and thus the sooner to impress them with the con-
viction to which G- , in fact, did finally arrive-the con-
viction that the letter was not upon the premises. I felt,
also, that the whole train of thought, which I was at some
pains in detailing to you just now, concerning the invariable
principle of political action in searches for articles con-
cealed—I felt that this whole train of thought would neces-
sarily pass through the mind of the minister. It would im-
peratively lead him to despise all the ordinary nooks of
concealment. He could not, I reflected, be so weak as not to
see that the most intricate and remote recess of his hotel
would be as open as his commonest closets to the eyes, to
the probes, to the gimlets, and to the microscopes of the
Prefect. I saw, in fine, that he would be driven, as a mat-
ter of course, to simplicity, if not deliberately induced to it
as a matter of choice. You will remember, perhaps, how
desperately the Prefect laughed when I suggested, upon
our first interview, that it was just possible this mystery
troubled him so much on account of its being so very self-
evident."
113


EDGAR ALLAN POE
“Yes,” said I, "I remember his merriment well. I really
thought he would have fallen into convulsions.”
“The material world,” continued Dupin, "abounds with
very strict analogies to the immaterial; and thus some color
of truth has been given to the rhetorical dogma, that meta-
phor, or simile, may be made to strengthen an argument as
well as to embellish a description. The principle of the vis
inerti&, for example, seems to be identical in physics and
metaphysics. It is not more true in the former, that a large
body is with more difficulty set in motion than a smaller
one, and that its subsequent momentum is commensurate
with this difficulty, than it is, in the latter, that intellects of
the vaster capacity, while more forcible, more constant, and
more eventful in their movements than those of inferior
grade, are yet the less readily moved, and more embarrassed,
and full of hesitation in the first few steps of their progress.
Again: have you ever noticed which of the street signs,
over the shop doors, are the most attractive of attention?”.
"I have never given the matter a thought,” I said.
“There is a game of puzzles," he resumed, "which is
played upon a map. One party playing requires another to
find a given word—the name of town, river, state, or em-
pire-any word, in short, upon the motley and perplexed
surface of the chart. A novice in the game generally seeks
to embarrass his opponents by giving them the most min-
utely lettered names; but the adept selects such words as
stretch, in large characters, from one end of the chart to the
other. These, like the over-largely lettered signs and plac-
ards of the street, escape observation by dint of being ex-
cessively obvious; and here the physical oversight is pre-
cisely analogous with the moral inapprehension by which
the intellect suffers to pass unnoticed those considerations
which are too obtrusively and too palpably self-evident. But
this is a point, it appears, somewhat above or beneath the
understanding of the Prefect. He never once thought it
probable, or possible, that the minister had deposited the
letter immediately beneath the nose of the whole world by
way of best preventing any portion of that world from per-
ceiving it.
114


THE PURLOINED LETTER
“But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, and
discriminating ingenuity of D- ; upon the fact that the doc-
ument must always have been at hand, if he intended to use
it to good purpose; and upon the decisive evidence, obtained
by the Prefect, that it was not hidden within the limits of
that dignitary's ordinary search-the more satisfied I became
that, to conceal this letter, the minister had resorted to the
comprehensive and sagacious expedient of not attempting to
conceal it at all.
"Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair of
green spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by acci-
dent, at the Ministerial hotel. I found D— at home, yawn-
ing, lounging, and dawdling, as usual, and pretending to be
in the last extremity of ennui. He is, perhaps, the most really
energetic human being now alive—but that is only when
nobody sees him.
"To be even with him, I complained of my weak eyes, and
lamented the necessity of the spectacles, under cover of which
I cautiously and thoroughly surveyed the whole apartment,
while seemingly intent only upon the conversation of my
host.
"I paid especial attention to a large writing-table near
which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly, some miscel-
laneous letters and other papers, with one or two musical
instruments and a few books. Here, however, after a long
and very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing to excite par-
ticular suspicion.
"At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the room, fell
upon a trumpery filigree card-rack of pasteboard, that hung
dangling by a dirty blue ribbon, from a little brass knob just
beneath the middle of the mantelpiece. In this rack, which
had three or four compartments, were five or six visiting
cards and a solitary letter. This last was much soiled and
crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the middle-
as if a design, in the first instance, to tear it entirely up as
worthless, had been altered or stayed in the second. It had
a large black seal, bearing the D- cipher very conspicu-
ously, and was addressed, in a diminutive female hand, to
D- the minister, himself. It was thrust carelessly, and
115


EDGAR ALLAN POE
even, as it seemed, contemptuously, into one of the upper-
most divisions of the rack.
"No sooner had I glanced at this letter than I concluded
it to be that of which I was in search. To be sure, it was,
to all appearance, radically different from the one of which
the Prefect had read us so minute a description. Here the
seal was large and black, with the D- cipher; there it
was small and red, with the ducal arms of the S- family,
Here, the address, to the minister, was diminutive and femi-
nine; there the superscription, to a certain royal personage,
was markedly bold and decided; the size alone formed a
point of correspondence. But, then, the radicalness of these
differences, which was excessive; the dirt; the soiled and torn
condition of the paper, so inconsistent with the true method-
ical habits of D , and so suggestive of a design to delude
the beholder into an idea of the worthlessness of the docu-
ment-these things, together with the hyperobtrusive situ-
ation of this document, full in the view of every visitor, and
thus exactly in accordance with the conclusions to which I
had previously arrived; these things, I say, were strongly
corroborative of suspicion, in one who came with the inten-
tion to suspect.
"I protracted my visit as long as possible, and while I
maintained a most animated discussion with the minister,
upon a topic which I knew well had never failed to interest
and excite him, I kept my attention really riveted upon the
letter. In this examination, I committed to memory its ex-
ternal appearance and arrangement in the rack; and also fell
at length, upon a discovery which set at rest whatever trivial
doubt I might have entertained. In scrutinizing the edges
of the paper, I observed them to be more chafed than seemed
necessary. They presented the broken appearance which is
manifested when a stiff paper, having been once folded and
pressed with a folder, is refolded in a reversed direction, in
the same creases or edges which had formed the original
fold. This discovery was sufficient. It was clear to me that
the letter had been turned as a glove, inside out, redirected
and resealed. I bade the minister good-morning, and took my
departure at once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon the table.
116


THE PURLOINED LETTER
“The next morning I called for the snuff-box, when we
resumed, quite eagerly, the conversation of the preceding
day. While thus engaged, however, a loud report, as if of a
pistol, was heard immediately beneath the windows of the
hotel, and was succeeded by a series of fearful screams, and
the shoutings of a terrified mob. D r ushed to a case-
ment, threw it open, and looked out. In the meantime I
stepped to the card-rack, took the letter, put it in my pocket,
and replaced it by a facsimile (so far as regards externals)
which I had carefully prepared at my lodgings-imitating
the D— cipher, very readily, by means of a seal formed
of bread.
"The disturbance in the street had been occasioned by the
frantic behavior of a man with a musket. He had fired it
among a crowd of women and children. It proved, how-
ever, to have been without ball, and the fellow was suffered
to go his way as a lunatic or a drunkard. When he had gone,
D— came from the window, whither I had followed him
immediately upon securing the object in view. Soon after-
ward I bade him farewell. The pretended lunatic was a
man in my own pay.”
"But what purpose had you,” I asked, “in replacing the
letter by a facsimile. Would it not have been better, at
the first visit, to have seized it openly, and departed?”
“D— " replied Dupin, "is a desperate man, and a man
of nerve. His hotel, too, is not without attendants devoted
to his interests. Had I made the wild attempt you suggest,
I might never have left the Ministerial presence alive. The
good people of Paris might have heard of me no more. But
I had an object apart from these considerations. You know
my political prepossessions. In this matter, I act as a par-
tizan of the lady concerned. For eighteen months the min-
ister has had her in his power. She has now him in hers-
since, being unaware that the letter is not in his possession,
he will proceed with his exactions as if it were. Thus will
he commit himself, at once, to his political destruction. His
downfall, too, will not be more precipitate than awkward. It
is all very well to talk about the facilis descensus Averni;
but in all kinds of climbing, as Catalani said of singing, it
117


EDGAR ALLAN POE
is far more easy to get up than to come down. In the present
instance I have no sympathy-at least no pity-for him who
descends. He is that monstrum horrendum, an unprincipled
man of genius. I confess, however, that I should like very
well to know the precise character of his thoughts, when,
being defied by her whom the Prefect terms 'a certain per-
sonage,' he is reduced to opening the letter which I left for
him in the card-rack.”
"How? did you put anything particular in it?"
"Why-it did not seem altogether right to leave the inte-
rior blank—that would have been insulting. D
a t Vi.
enna once, did me an evil turn, which I told him, quite good-
humoredly, that I should remember. So, as I knew he would
feel some curiosity in regard to the identity of the person
who had outwitted him, I thought it a pity not to give him a
clue. He is well acquainted with my MS., and I just copied
into the middle of the blank sheet the words:
--Un dessein si funeste,
S'il n'est digne d'Atree, est digne de Thyeste,'
They are to be found in Crêbillon's 'Atrée.'”
118


THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
BY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
C3 C3
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is undoubtedly the
most popular living writer of detective fiction.
Sherlock Holmes is said to have been sug-
gested to the author by a study of the charac-
ter and talents of Joseph Bell, M.D., F.R.C.S.,
a professor, while Dr. Doyle was a student at
Edinburgh University. He was particularly
strong on what the author calls “the science
of deduction.” He used to tell the students
their symptoms, and would even give them
details of their past life. No collection of
famous detective stories would be complete
that omitted “The Sign of the Four.”





THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
By SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
CHAPTER I
The Science of Deduction
SHERLOCK HOLMES took his bottle from the
corner of the mantelpiece and his hypodermic
syringe from its neat morocco case. With his
long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the deli-
cate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some
little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy fore-
arm and wrist, all dotted and scarred with innumerable punc-
ture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed
down the tiny piston, and sunk back into the velvet-lined
armchair with a long sigh of satisfaction.
Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this
performance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it.
On the contrary, from day to day I had become more irrita-
ble at the sight, and my conscience swelled nightly within me
at the thought that I had lacked the courage to protest.
Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver
my soul upon the subject, but there was that in the cool,
nonchalant air of my companion which made him the last
man with whom one would care to take anything approach-
ing to a liberty. His great powers, his masterly manner,
and the experience which I had had of his many extraordi-
nary qualities, all made me diffident and backward in cross-
ing him.
Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the claret which
I had taken with my lunch, or the additional exasperation
produced by the extreme deliberation of his manner, I sud-
denly felt that I could hold out no longer.
"Which is it to-day?" I asked. “Morphine or cocaine?”
He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter vol-
Vol. I
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
ume which he had opened. “It is cocaine,” he said; "a
seven per cent solution. Would you care to try it?”
“No, indeed,” I answered, bruskly. “My constitution has
not got over the Afghan campaign yet. I can not afford to
throw any extra strain upon it.”
He smiled at my vehemence. “Perhaps you are right,
Watson,” he said. “I suppose that its influence is physically
a bad one. I find it, however, so transcendently stimulating
and clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is a mat-
ter of small moment."
“But consider!" I said, earnestly. “Count the cost! Your
brain may, as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a
pathological and morbid process, which involves increased
tissue-change, and may at last leave a permanent weakness.
You know, too, what a black reaction comes upon you. Surely
the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for
a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers
with which you have been endowed? Remember that I
speak not only as one comrade to another, but as a medical
man to one for whose constitution he is to some extent
answerable."
He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his
finger-tips together and leaned his elbows on the arms of his
chair, like one who has a relish for conversation.
"My mind," he said, “rebels at stagnation. Give me
problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse crypto-
gram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own
proper atmosphere, I can dispense then with artificial stimu-
lants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for
mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own par-
ticular profession-or rather created it, for I am the only one
in the world."
“The only unofficial detective?" I said, raising my eyebrows.
"The only unofficial consulting detective,” he answered.
“I am the last and highest court of appeal in detection.
When Gregson, or Lestrade, or Athelney Jones are out of
their depths—which, by the way, is their normal state-the
matter is laid before me. I examine the data, as an expert,
and pronounce a specialist's opinion. I claim no credit in
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work
itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers,
is my highest reward. But you have yourself had some ex-
perience of my methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case."
“Yes, indeed," said I, cordially. “I was never so struck
by anything in my life. I even embodied it in a small
brochure with the somewhat fantastic title of 'A Study in
Scarlet.'”
He shook his head sadly. "I glanced over it,” said he.
"Honestly, I can not congratulate you upon it. Detection
is, or ought to be, an exact science, and should be treated in
the same cold and unemotional manner. You have attempted
to tinge it with romanticism, which produces much the same
effect as if you worked a love story or an elopement into the
fifth proposition of Euclid.”
"But the romance was there," I remonstrated. “I could
not tamper with the facts."
"Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense
of proportion should be observed in treating them. The
only point in the case which deserved mention was the curi-
ous analytical reasoning from effects to causes by which I
succeeded in unraveling it."
I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been
specially designed to please him. I confess, too, that I was
irritated by the egotism which seemed to demand that every
line of my pamphlet should be devoted to his own special
doings. More than once during the years that I had lived
with him in Baker Street I had observed that a small vanity
underlay my companion's quiet and didactic manner. I
made no remark, however, but sat nursing my wounded leg.
I had had a Jezail bullet through it some time before, and
though it did not prevent me from walking, it ached wearily
at every change of the weather.
"My practise has extended recently to the Continent,"
said Holmes, after a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe.
"I was consulted last week by François le Villard, who, as
you probably know, has come rather to the front lately in
the French detective service. He has all the Celtic power
of quick intuition, but he is deficient in the wide range of
123


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
exact knowledge which is essential to the higher develop-
ments of his art. The case was concerned with a will, and
possessed some features of interest. I was able to refer him
to two parallel cases; the one at Riga in 1857, and the other
at St. Louis in 1871, which have suggested to him the true
solution. Here is the letter which I had this morning ac-
knowledging my assistance.” He tossed over, as he spoke,
a crumpled sheet of foreign note-paper. I glanced my eyes
down it, catching a profusion of notes of admiration, with
stray “magnifiques," "coup-de-maîtres,” and “tours-de-force,”
all testifying to the ardent admiration of the Frenchman.
“He speaks as a pupil to his master," said I.
"Oh, he rates my assistance too highly," said Sherlock
Holmes, lightly. "He has considerable gifts himself. He
possesses two out of the three qualities necessary for the
ideal detective. He has the power of observation and that
of deduction. He is only wanting in knowledge; and that
may come in time. He is now translating my small works
into French."
"Your works?”
"Oh, didn't you know?" he cried, laughing. “Yes, I have
been guilty of several monographs. They are all upon tech-
nical subjects. Here, for example, is one 'Upon the Dis-
tinction Between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos.' In
it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar, cigarette,
and pipe tobacco, with colored plates illustrating the differ-
ence in the ash. It is a point which is continually turning
up in criminal trials, and which is sometimes of supreme
importance as a clue. If you can say definitely, for example,
that some murder has been done by a man who was smoking
an Indian lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of search.
To the trained eye there is as much difference between the
black ash of a Trinchinopoly and the white fluff of bird's-eye
as there is between a cabbage and a potato.”
“You have an extraordinary genius for minutiæ," I re-
marked.
"I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph
upon the tracing of footsteps, with some remarks upon the
uses of plaster of Paris as a preserver of impresses. Here,
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
too, is a curious little work upon the influence of a trade
upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes of the hands of
slaters, sailors, cork-cutters, compositors, weavers, and dia-
mond-polishers. That is a matter of great practical interest
to the scientific detective-especially in cases of unclaimed
bodies, or in discovering the antecedents of criminals. But
I weary you with my hobby.”
“Not at all,” I answered, earnestly. “It is of the greatest
interest to me, especially since I have had the opportunity
of observing your practical application of it. But you spoke
just now of observation and deduction. Surely the one to
some extent implies the other."
"Why, hardly,” he answered, leaning back luxuriously in
his armchair, and sending up thick blue wreaths from his
pipe. “For example, observation shows me that you have
been to the Wigmore Street Post-Office this morning, but
deduction lets me know that when there you despatched a
telegram."
“Right!” said I. “Right on both points! But I confess
that I don't see how you arrived at it. It was a sudden im-
pulse upon my part, and I have mentioned it to no one."
"It is simplicity itself," he remarked, chuckling at my
surprise; "so absurdly simple that an explanation is super-
fluous; and yet it may serve to define the limits of observa-
tion and of deduction. Observation tells me that you have
a little reddish mold adhering to your instep. Just opposite
the Wigmore Street Office they have taken up the pavement
and thrown up some earth which lies in such a way that it is
difficult to avoid treading in it in entering. The earth is of
this peculiar reddish tint which is found, so far as I know,
nowhere else in the neighborhood. So much is observation.
The rest is deduction.”
"How, then, did you deduce the telegram?”
“Why, of course I knew that you had not written a letter,
since I sat opposite to you all the morning. I see also in
your open desk there that you have a sheet of stamps and a
thick bundle of post-cards. What could you go into the post-
office for, then, but to send a wire? Eliminate all other
factors, and the one which remains must be the truth."
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
"In this case it certainly is so," I replied, after a little
thought. “The thing, however, is, as you say, of the simplest.
Would you think me impertinent if I were to put your the-
ories to a more severe test?”.
"On the contrary," he answered, “it would prevent me
from taking a second dose of cocaine. I should be delighted
to look into any problem which you might submit to me."
“I have heard you say that it is difficult for a man to have
any object in daily use without leaving the impress of his in-
dividuality upon it in such a way that a trained observer
might read it. Now, I have here a watch which has recently
come into my possession. Would you have the kindness to
let me have an opinion upon the character or habits of the
late owner?"
I handed him the watch with some slight feeling of
amusement in my heart, for the test was, as I thought, an
impossible one, and I intended it as a lesson against the
somewhat dogmatic tone which he occasionally assumed.
He balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard at the dial,
opened the back, and examined the works, first with his
naked eyes and then with a powerful convex lens. I could
hardly keep from smiling at his crestfallen face, when he
finally snapped the case to and handed it back.
“There are hardly any data,” he remarked. “The watch
has been recently cleaned, which robs me of my most sug-
gestive facts.”
“You are right," I answered. “It was cleaned before being
sent to me.” In my heart I accused my companion of put-
ting forward a most lame and impotent excuse to cover his
failure. What data could he expect from an uncleaned
watch?
“Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely
barren,” he observed, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy,
lack-lustre eyes. "Subject to your correction, I should
judge that the watch belonged to your elder brother, who
inherited it from your father.”
"That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon the
back?"
“Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The data
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
of the watch is nearly fifty years back, and the initials are
as old as the watch; so it was made for the last generation.
Jewelry usually descends to the eldest son, and he is most
likely to have the same name as his father. Your father has,
if I remember right, been dead many years. It has, there-
fore, been in the hands of your eldest brother."
"Right, so far," said I. “Anything else?”
"He was a man of untidy habits—very untidy and care-
less. He was left with good prospects, but he threw away
his chances, lived for some time in poverty, with occasional
short intervals of prosperity, and finally, taking to drink, he
died. That is all I can gather.”
I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the
room with considerable bitterness in my heart.
"This is unworthy of you, Holmes,” I said. “I could not
have believed that you would have descended to this. You
have made inquiries into the history of my unhappy brother,
and you now pretend to deduce this knowledge in some fan-
ciful way. You can not expect me to believe that you have
read all this from his old watch! It is unkind, and, to speak
plainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it.”
“My dear doctor,” said he kindly, "pray accept my apolo-
gies. Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had for-
gotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to you.
I assure you, however, that I never even knew that you had
a brother until you handed me the watch."
"Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you
get all these facts? They are absolutely correct in every
particular."
“Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was the
balance of probability. I did not at all expect to be so
accurate.”
“But it was not mere guesswork?”
"No, no; I never guess. It is a shocking habit-destruc-
tive to the logical faculty. What seems strange to you is
only so because you do not follow my train of thought or
observe the small facts upon which large inferences may de-
pend. For example, I began by stating that your brother
was careless. When you observe the lower part of that
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
watch-case you notice that it is not only dented in two
places, but it is cut and marked all over from the habit of
keeping other hard objects, such as coins or keys, in the
same pocket. Surely it is no great feat to assume that a man
who treats a fifty-guinea watch so cavalierly must be a care-
less man. Neither is it a very far-fetched inference that a
man who inherits one article of such value is pretty well pro-
vided for in other respects."
I nodded to show that I followed his reasoning.
"It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, when
they take a watch, to scratch the number of the ticket with
a pin-point upon the inside of the case. It is more handy
than a label, as there is no risk of the number being lost or
transposed. There are no less than four such numbers visi-
ble to my lens on the inside of this case. Inference that
your brother was often at low water. Secondary inference-
that he had occasional bursts of prosperity, or he could not
have redeemed the pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at the
inner plate which contains the keyhole. Look at the thou-
sands of scratches all around the hole-marks where the key
has slipped. What sober man's key could have scored those
grooves? But you will never see a drunkard's watch with-
out them. He winds it at night, and he leaves these traces of
his unsteady hand. Where is the mystery in all this?"
"It is as clear as daylight,” I answered. “I regret the
injustice which I did you. I should have had more faith in
your marvelous faculty. May I ask whether you have any
professional inquiry on foot at present?”.
“None. Hence the cocaine. I can not live without brain-
work. What else is there to live for? Stand at the window
here. Was ever such a dreary, dismal, unprofitable world?
See how the yellow fog swirls down the street and drifts
across dun-colored houses. What could be more hopelessly
prosaic and material? What is the use of having powers,
doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them?
Crime is commonplace, and existence is commonplace, and
no qualities save those which are commonplace have any
function upon earth.”
I had opened my mouth to reply to his tirade, when, with
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
a crisp knock, our landlady entered, bearing a card upon a
brass salver.
“A young lady for you, sir,” she said, addressing my
companion.
"Miss Mary Morstan,” he read. "Hum! I have no recol.
lection of that name. Ask the young lady to step up, Mrs.
Hudson. Don't go, doctor. I prefer that you remain.”
CHAPTER II
The Statement of the Case
Miss MORSTAN entered the room with a firm step and
an outward composure of manner. She was a blond young
lady, small, dainty, well gloved, and dressed in the most per-
fect taste. There was, however, a plainness and simplicity
about her costume which bore with a suggestion of limited
means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed
and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull
hue, relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side.
Her face had neither regularity of feature nor beauty of
complexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, and
her large blue eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic.
In an experience of women which extends over many nations
and three separate continents I have never looked upon a
face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive
nature. I could not but observe that, as she took the seat
which Sherlock Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her
hand quivered, and she showed every sign of intense inward
agitation.
"I have come to you, Mr. Holmes," she said, “because
you once enabled my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to un-
ravel a little domestic complication. She was much impressed
by your kindness and skill.”
“Mrs. Cecil Forrester,” he repeated, thoughtfully. "I be-
lieve that I was of some slight service to her. The case,
however, as I remember it, was a very simple one."
"She did not think so. But, at least, you can not say the
129


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
same of mine. I can hardly imagine anything more strange,
more utterly inexplicable, than the situation in which I find
myself.”
Holmes rubbed his hands and his eyes glistened. He
leaned forward in his chair with an expression of extraordi-
nary concentration upon his clear-cut, hawk-like features.
“State your case," said he, in brisk business tones.
I felt that my position was an embarrassing one. “You
will, I am sure, excuse me," I said, rising from my chair.
To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand
to detain me. “If your friend,” she said, “would be good
enough to stay, he might be of inestimable service to me.”
I relapsed into my chair.
“Briefly," she continued, “the facts are these. My father
was an officer in an Indian regiment, who sent me home
when I was quite a child. My mother was dead, and I had
no relative in England. I was placed, however, in a com-
fortable boarding establishment at Edinburgh, and there I
remained until I was seventeen years of age. In the year
1878 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment, ob-
tained twelve months' leave and came home. He telegraphed
to me from London that he had arrived all safe, and di-
rected me to come down at once, giving the Langham Hotel
as his address. His message, as I remember, was full of
kindness and love. On reaching London I drove to the
Langham, and was informed that Captain Morstan was stay-
ing there, but that he had gone out the night before and had
not returned. I waited all day without news of him. That
night, on the advice of the manager of the hotel, I com-
municated with the police, and next morning we advertised
in all the papers. Our inquiries led to no result; and from
that day to this no word has ever been heard of my unfor-
tunate father. He came home, with his heart full of hope, to
find some peace, some comfort, and instead—” She put her
hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short the sentence.
“The date?” asked Holmes, opening his note-book.
“He disappeared upon the 3d of December, 1878-nearly
ten years ago.”
"His luggage?
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
“Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to sug-
gest a clue-some clothes, some books, and a considerable
number of curiosities from the Andaman Islands. He had
been one of the officers in charge of the convict guard
there."
"Had he any friends in town?”
"Only one that we know of-Major Sholto, of his own
regiment, the Thirty-fourth Bombay Infantry. The major
had retired some little time before, and lived at Upper Nor-
wood. We communicated with him, of course, but he did
not even know that his brother officer was in England.”
"A singular case,” remarked Holmes.
“I have not yet described to you the most singular part.
About six years ago-to be exact, upon the 4th of May,
1882—an advertisement appeared in the 'Times' asking
for the address of Miss Mary Morstan, and stating that
it would be to her advantage to come forward. There
was no name or address appended. I had at that time just
entered the family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity
of governess. By her advice I published my address in the
advertisement column. The same day there arrived through
the post a small card-box addressed to me, which I found to
contain a very large and lustrous pearl. No word of writing
was enclosed. Since then, every year upon the same date,
there has always appeared a similar box, containing a similar
pearl, without any clue as to the sender. They have been
pronounced by an expert to be of a rare variety and of con-
siderable value. You can see for yourselves that they are
very handsome.” She opened a flat box as she spoke, and
showed me six of the finest pearls that I had ever seen.
"Your statement is most interesting,” said Sherlock
Holmes. “Has anything else occurred to you?”
“Yes; and no later than to-day. That is why I have come
to you. This morning I received this letter, which you will
perhaps read for yourself.”
“Thank you,” said Holmes. “The envelope, too, please.
Postmark, London, S. W., date, July 7. Hum! Man's thumb-
mark on corner-probably postman. Best quality paper.
Envelopes at sixpence a packet. Particular man in his sta-
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
tionery. No address. 'Be at the third pillar from the left
outside the Lyceum Theatre to-night at seven o'clock. If
you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged
woman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you
do, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend.' Well, really,
this is a very pretty little mystery. What do you intend to
do, Miss Morstan?”
“That is exactly what I want to ask you."
“Then we shall most certainly go. You and I and yes,
why, Doctor Watson is the very man. Your correspondent
says two friends. He and I have worked together before."
“But would he come?” she asked, with something appeal-
ing in her voice and expression.
"I should be proud and happy,” said I, fervently, "if I can
be of any service.”
"You are both very kind,” she answered. “I have led
a retired life, and have no friends whom I could appeal to.
If I am here at six it will do, I suppose?”
“You must not be later," said Holmes. “There is one
other point, however. Is this handwriting the same as that
upon the pearl-box addresses?"
“I have them here," she answered, producing half a dozen
pieces of paper.
“You are certainly a model client. You have the correct
intuition. Let us see, now." He spread out the papers upon
the table and gave little darting glances from one to the
other. “They are disguised hands, except the letter," he said,
presently, “but there can be no question as to the authorship.
See how the irrepressible Greek ε will break out, and see the
twirl of the final s. They are undoubtedly by the same per-
son. I should not like to suggest false hopes, Miss Mor-
stan, but is there any resemblance between this hand and
that of your father?”
"Nothing could be more unlike.”
"I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for
you, then, at six. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may
look into the matter before then. It is only half-past three.
Au revoir, then."
“Au revoir,” said our visitor, and, with a bright, kindly
132


THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
glance from one to the other of us, she replaced her pearl.
box in her bosom and hurried away. Standing at the win-
dow, I watched her walking briskly down the street, until
the gray turban and white feather were but a speck in the
sombre crowd.
“What a very attractive woman!” I exclaimed, turning to
my companion.
He had lighted his pipe again, and was leaning back with
drooping eyelids. "Is she?” he said, languidly. "I did not
observe."
"You really are an automaton—a calculating-machine!" I
cried. “There is something positively inhuman in you at
times.”
He smiled gently. “It is of the first importance,” he said,
"not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal quali-
ties. A client is to me a mere unit-a factor in a problem.
The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning.
I assure you that the most winning woman I ever knew was
hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance
money, and the most repellent man of my acquaintance is
a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million
upon the London poor.”
"In this case, however,"
"I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the
rule. Have you ever had occasion to study character in hand-
writing? What do you make of this fellow's scribble?”
"It is legible and regular," I answered. "A man of busi-
ness habits and some force of character.”
Holmes shook his head. “Look at his long letters," he
said. “They hardly rise above the common herd. That d
might be an a and that I an e. Men of character always
differentiate their long letters, however illegibly they may
write. There is vacillation in his k’s and self-esteem in his
capitals. I am going out now. I have some few references
to make. Let me recommend this book-one of the most re-
markable ever penned. It is Winwood Reade's ‘Martyrdom
of Man. I shall be back in an hour.” I sat in the window
with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were far from
the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon our
133


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
late visitor-her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the
strange mystery which overhung her life. If she were seven-
teen at the time of her father's disappearance she must be
seven-and-twenty now-a sweet age, when youth has lost its
self-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience.
So I sat and mused, until such dangerous thoughts came into
my head that I hurried away to my desk and plunged furi-
ously into the latest treatise upon pathology. What was I,
an army surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-
account, that I should dare to think of such things? She
was a unit, a factor-nothing more. If my future were black,
it was better surely to face it like a man than to attempt to
brighten it by mere will-o'-the-wisps of the imagination.
CHAPTER III
In Quest of a Solution
It was half-past five before Holmes returned. He was
bright, eager, and in excellent spirits—a mood which in
his case alternated with fits of the blackest depression.
“There is no great mystery in this matter," he said, tak-
ing the cup of tea which I had poured out for him. “The
facts appear to admit of only one explanation.”
“What! you have solved it already?”
"Well, that will be too much to say. I have discovered
a suggestive fact, that is all. It is, however, very suggestive.
The details are still to be added. I have just found, on con-
sulting the back files of the 'Times,' that Major Sholto of
Upper Norwood, late of the Thirty-fourth Bombay Infantry,
died upon the 28th of April, 1882."
"I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what this
suggests.”
“No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then.
Captain Morstan disappears. The only person in London
whom he could have visited is Major Sholto. Major Sholto
denies having heard that he was in London. Four years later
Sholto dies. Within a week of his death, Captain Morstan's
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated from
year to year, and now culminates in a letter which describes
her as a wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to except
this deprivation of her father? And why should the presents
begin immediately after Sholto's death, unless it is that
Sholto's heir knows something of the mystery, and desires
to make compensation? Have you any alternative theory
which will meet the facts?"
“But what a strange compensation! And how strangely
made! Why, too, should he write a letter now, rather than
six years ago? Again, the letter speaks of giving her justice.
What justice can she have? It is too much to suppose that
her father is still alive. There is no other injustice in her
case that you know of.”
“There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties,"
said Sherlock Holmes, pensively. “But our expedition of to-
night will solve them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and
Miss Morstan is inside. Are you all ready? Then we had
better go down, for it is a little past the hour.”
I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed
that Holmes took his revolver from his drawer and slipped it
into his pocket. It was clear that he thought our night's
work might be a serious one.
Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensi-
tive face was composed, but pale. She must have been more
than woman if she did not feel some uneasiness at the
strange enterprise upon which we were embarking, yet
her self-control was perfect, and she readily answered
the few additional questions which Sherlock Holmes put
to her.
"Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa's," she
said. "His letters were full of allusions to the major. He
and papa were in command of the troops at the Andaman
Islands, so they were thrown a great deal together. By the
way, a curious paper was found in papa's desk which no one
can understand. I don't suppose that it is of the slightest
importance, but I thought you might care to see it, so I
brought it with me. It is here."
Holmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
out upon his knee. He then very methodically examined it
all over with his double lens.
"It is paper of native Indian manufacture," he remarked.
"It has at some time been pinned to a board. The diagram
upon it appears to be a plan of part of a large building, with
numerous halls, corridors, and passages. At one point is a
small cross done in red ink, and above it is '3.37 from left,'
in faded pencil-writing. In the left-hand corner is a curious
hieroglyphic, like four crosses in a line with their arms touch-
ing. Beside it is written, in very rough and coarse charac-
ters, "The sign of the four-Jonathan Small, Mahomet Singh,
Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar.' No, I confess that I do not
see how this bears upon the matter! Yet it is evidently a
document of importance. It has been kept carefully in a
pocket-book; for the one side is as clean as the other.”
"It was in his pocket-book that we found it."
"Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan, for it may
prove to be of use to us. I begin to suspect that this matter
may turn out to be much deeper and more subtle than I at
first supposed. I must reconsider my ideas.” He leaned
back in the cab, and I could see by his drawn brow and his
vacant eye that he was thinking intently. Miss Morstan and
I chatted in an undertone about our present expedition and
its possible outcome, but our companion maintained his im-
penetrable reserve until the end of our journey.
It was a September evening, and not yet seven o'clock,
but the day had been a dreary one, and a dense, drizzling fog
lay low upon the great city. Mud-colored clouds drooped
sadly over the muddy streets. Down the Strand the lamps
were but misty splotches of diffused light which threw a fee-
ble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. The yellow
glare from the shop-windows streamed out into the steamy,
vaporous air, and threw a murky, shifting radiance across the
crowded thoroughfare. There was to my mind something
eery and ghost-like in the endless procession of faces which
Alitted across these narrow bars of light-sad faces and glad,
haggard and merry. Like all human kind, they fitted from
the gloom into the light, and so back into the gloom once
more. I am not subject to impressions, but the dull, heavy
136


THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
evening, with the strange business upon which we were en-
gaged, combined to make me nervous and depressed. I could
see from Miss Morstan's manner that she was suffering from
the same feeling. Holmes alone could rise superior to petty
influences. He held his open note-book upon his knee, and
from time to time he jotted down figures and memoranda
in the light of his pocket-lantern.
At the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already thick at
the side-entrances. In front a continuous stream of han-
soms and four-wheelers were rattling up, discharging their
cargoes of shirt-fronted men and beshawled, bediamonded
women. We had hardly reached the third pillar, which was
our rendezvous, before a small, dark, brisk man, in the dress
of a coachman, accosted us.
"Are you the parties who come with Miss Morstan?” he
asked.
"I am Miss Morstan, and these two gentlemen are my
friends," said she.
He bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating and question-
ing eyes upon us. “You will excuse me, miss," he said, with
a certain dogged manner, “but I was to ask you to give me
your word that neither of your companions is a police officer.”
"I give you my word on that,” she answered.
He gave a shrill whistle, on which a street Arab led
across a four-wheeler, and opened the door. The man who
had addressed us mounted to the box, while we took our
places inside. We had hardly done so before the driver
whipped up his horse, and we plunged away at a furious pace
through the foggy streets.
The situation was a curious one. We were driving to an
unknown place, on an unknown errand. Yet our invitation
was either a complete hoax, which was an inconceivable
hypothesis, or else we had good reason to think that impor-
tant issues might hang upon our journey. Miss Morstan's
demeanor was as resolute and collected as ever. I endeav-
ored to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adven-
tures in Afghanistan; but to tell the truth, I was myself so
excited at our situation and so curious as to our destination
that my stories were slightly involved. To this day she de-
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
clares that I told her one moving anecdote as to how a
musket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and how I
fired a double-barreled tiger cub at it. At first I had some
idea as to the direction in which we were driving; but soon,
what with our pace, the fog, and my own limited knowledge
of London, I lost my bearings, and knew nothing, save that
we seemed to be going a very long way. Sherlock Holmes
was never at fault, however, and he muttered the names as
the cab rattled through squares and in and out by tortuous
by-streets.
"Rochester Row," said he. “Now Vincent Square. Now
we come out on the Vauxhall Bridge Road. We are making
for the Surrey side apparently. Yes, I thought so. Now
we are on the bridge. You can catch glimpses of the
river."
We did indeed get a fleeting view of a stretch of the
Thames, with the lamps shining upon the broad, silent
water; but our cab dashed on, and was soon involved in a
labyrinth of streets upon the other side.
“Wordsworth Road,” said my companion. "Priory Road.
Lark Hall Lane. Stockwell Place. Robert Street. Cold
Harbor Lane. Our quest does not appear to take us to very
fashionable regions.”
We had, indeed, reached a questionable and forbidding
neighborhood. Long lines of dull brick houses were only
relieved by the coarse glare and tawdry brilliancy of public-
houses at the corner. Then came rows of two-storied villas,
each with a fronting of miniature garden, and then again in-
terminable lines of new staring brick buildings—the monster
tentacles which the giant city was throwing out into the
country. At last the cab drew up at the third house in a
new terrace. None of the other houses was inhabited, and
that at which we stopped was as dark as its neighbors, save
for a single glimmer in the kitchen window. On our knock-
ing, however, the door was instantly thrown open by a Hindu
servant clad in a yellow turban, white, loose-fitting clothes,
and a yellow sash. There was something strangely incon-
gruous in this Oriental figure framed in the commonplace
doorway of a third-rate suburban dwelling-house.
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
“The sahib awaits you," said he, and even as he spoke
there came a high piping voice from some inner room. “Show
them in to me, khitmutgar," it cried. "Show them straight
in to me."
CHAPTER IV
The Story of the Bald-Headed Man
We followed the Indian down the sordid and common
passage, ill-lighted and worse furnished, until he came to
a door upon the right, which he threw open. A blaze of
yellow light streamed out upon us, and in the centre of the
glare there stood a small man with a very high head, a
bristle of red hair all round the fringe of it, and a bald,
shining scalp, which shot out from among it like a moun-
tain-peak from fir-trees. He rubbed his hands together as
he stood, and his features were in a perpetual jerk, now
smiling, now scowling, but never for an instant in repose.
Nature had given him a pendulous lip, and a too visible line
of yellow and irregular teeth, which he strove feebly to con-
ceal by constantly passing his hand over the lower part of his
face. In spite of his obtrusive baldness, he gave the impres-
sion of youth. In point of fact, he had just turned his thir-
tieth year.
"Your servant, Miss Morstan," he kept repeating in a
thin, high voice. "Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step into
my little sanctum. A small place, miss, but furnished to my
own liking. An oasis of art in the howling desert of South
London.”
We were all astonished by the appearance of the apart-
ment into which he invited us. In that sorry house it looked
as out of place as a diamond of the first water in a setting
of brass. The richest and glossiest of curtains and draperies
draped the walls, looped back here and there to expose some
richly mounted painting or Oriental vase. The carpet was of
amber and black, so soft and so thick that the foot sank pleas-
antly into it, as into a bed of moss. Two great tiger-skins
thrown athwart it increased the suggestion of Eastern lux-
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
ury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon a mat in the
corner. A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove was hung
from an almost invisible golden wire in the centre of the
room. As it burned it filled the air with a subtle and aro-
matic odor.
“Mr. Thaddeus Sholto," said the little man, still jerking
and smiling. “That is my name. You are Miss Morstan, of
course. And these gentlemen ”.
“This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this Doctor Watson.”
“A doctor, eh?" cried he, much excited. “Have you your
stethoscope? Might I ask you-would you have the kind-
ness? I have grave doubts as to my mitral valve, if you
would be so very good. The aortic I may rely upon, but I
should value your opinion upon the mitral.”
I listened to his heart as requested, but was unable to find
anything amiss, save indeed that he was in an ecstasy of
fear, for he shivered from head to foot. “It appears to be
normal,” I said. “You have no cause for uneasiness.”
“You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan," he remarked,
airily. “I am a great sufferer, and I have long had sus-
picions as to that valve. I am delighted to hear that they
are unwarranted. Had your father, Miss Morstan, refrained
from throwing a strain upon his heart, he might have been
alive now.”
I could have struck the man across the face, so hot was
I at this callous and offhand reference to so delicate a matter.
Miss Morstan sat down, and her face grew white to the lips.
"I knew in my heart that he was dead,” said she.
“I can give you every information," said he, “and what
is more, I can do you justice; and I will, too, whatever
brother Bartholomew may say. I am so glad to have your
friends here, not only as an escort to you, but also as wit-
nesses to what I am about to do and say. The three of us
can show a bold front to brother Bartholomew. But let us
have no outsiders-no police or officials. We can settle
everything satisfactorily among ourselves, without any inter-
ference. Nothing would annoy brother Bartholomew more
than any publicity." He sat down upon a low settee and
blinked at us inquiringly with his weak, watery blue eyes.
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
“For my part,” said Holmes, “whatever you may choose
to say will go no further.”
I nodded to show my agreement.
“That is well! That is well!” said he. May I offer you
a glass of Chianti, Miss Morstan? or of Tokay? I keep no
other wines. Shall I open a flask? No? Well, then, I trust
that you have no objection to tobacco-smoke, to the mild,
balsamic odor of the Eastern tobacco. I am a little nervous,
and I find my hookah an invaluable sedative.” He applied
a taper to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled merrily
through the rose-water. We sat all three in a semicircle,
with our heads advanced, and our chins upon our hands,
while the strange, jerky little fellow, with his high, shining
head, puffed uneasily in the centre.
“When I first determined to make this communication to
you," said he, “I might have given you my address, but I
feared that you might disregard my request and bring un-
pleasant people with you. I took the liberty, therefore, of
making an appointment in such a way that my man Williams,
might be able to see you first. I have complete confidence
in his discretion, and he had orders, if he were dissatisfied,
to proceed no further in the matter. You will excuse these
precautions, but I am a man of somewhat retiring, and, I
might even say, refined tastes, and there is nothing more
unesthetic than a policeman. I have a natural shrinking
from all forms of rough materialism. I seldom come in con-
tact with the rough crowd. I live, as you see, with some
little atmosphere of elegance around me. I may call myself
a patron of the arts. It is my weakness. The landscape is
a genuine Corot, and, though a connoisseur might perhaps
throw a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there can not be the
least question about the Bouguereau. I am partial to the
modern French school.”
“You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto," said Miss Morstan,
"but I am here at your request to learn something which
you desire to tell me. It is very late, and I should desire the
interview to be as short as possible.”
"At the best it must take some time,” he answered; "for
we shall certainly have to go to Norwood and see brother
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
Bartholomew. We shall all go and try if we can get the
better of brother Bartholomew. He is very angry with me
for taking the course which has seemed right to me. I had
quite high words with him last night. You can not imagine
what a terrible fellow he is when he is angry."
"If we are to go to Norwood it would perhaps be as well
to start at once,” I ventured to remark.
He laughed until his ears were quite red. “That would
hardly do,” he cried. “I don't know what he would say if I
brought you in that sudden way. No; I must prepare you
by showing you how we all stand to each other. In the first
place, I must tell you that there are several points in the
story of which I am myself ignorant. I can only lay the
facts before you as far as I know them myself.
“My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John
Sholto, once of the Indian army. He retired some eleven
years ago, and came to live at Pondicherry Lodge in Upper
Norwood. He had prospered in India, and brought back
with him a considerable sum of money, a large collection
of valuable curiosities, and a staff of native servants. With
these advantages he bought himself a house, and lived in
great luxury. My twin-brother Bartholomew and I were
the only children.
"I very well remember the sensation which was caused
by the disappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the de-
tails in the papers, and, knowing that he had been a friend
of our father's, we discussed the case freely in his pres-
ence. He used to join in our speculations as to what could
have happened. Never for an instant did we suspect that he
had the whole secret hidden in his own breast-that of all
men he alone knew the fate of Arthur Morstan.
“We did know, however, that some mystery-some posi-
tive danger-overhung our father. He was very fearful of
going out alone, and he always employed two prize-fighters
to act as porters at Pondicherry Lodge. Williams, who
drove you to-night, was one of them. He was once a light-
weight champion of England. Our father would never tell
us what it was he feared, but he had a most marked aversion
to men with wooden legs. On one occasion he actually fired
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
his revolver at a wooden-legged man, who proved to be a
harmless tradesman canvassing for orders. We had to pay
a large sum to hush the matter up. My brother and I used
to think this a mere whim of my father's, but events have
since led us to change our opinion.
"Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India
which was a great shock to him. He nearly fainted at the
breakfast-table when he opened it, and from that day he
sickened to his death. What was in the letter we could
never discover, but I could see as he held it that it was short
and written in a scrawling hand. He had suffered for years
from an enlarged spleen, but he now became rapidly worse,
and toward the end of April we were informed that he was
beyond all hope, and that he wished to make a last com-
munication to us.
"When we entered his room he was propped up with pil-
lows and breathing heavily. He besought us to lock the door
and to come upon either side of the bed. Then, grasping
our hands, he made a remarkable statement to us, in a voice
which was broken as much by emotion as by pain. I shall
try and give it to you in his own very words.
“ 'I have only one thing,' he said, 'which weighs upon my
mind at this supreme moment. It is my treatment of poor
Morstan's orphan. The cursed greed which has been my be-
setting sin through life has withheld from her the treasure,
half at least of which should have been hers. And yet I
have made no use of it myself—so blind and foolish a thing
is avarice. The mere feeling of possession has been so dear
to me that I could not bear to share it with another. See
that chaplet tipped with pearls beside the quinine-bottle.
Even that I could not bear to part with, although I had got
it out with the design of sending it to her. You, my sons,
will give her a fair share of the Agra treasure. But send her
nothing—not even the chaplet-until I am gone. After all,
men have been as bad as this and have recovered.
“ 'I will tell you how Morstan died,' he continued. 'He
had suffered for years from a weak heart, but he concealed
it from every one. I alone knew it. When in India, he and
I, through a remarkable chain of circumstances, came into
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
possession of a considerable treasure. I brought it over to
England, and on the night of Morstan's arrival he came
straight over here to claim his share. He walked over from
the station, and was admitted by my faithful old Lal Chow-
dar, who is now dead. Morstan and I had a difference of
opinion as to the division of the treasure, and we came to
heated words. Morstan had sprung out of his chair in a
paroxysm of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand to
his side, his face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backward,
cutting his head against the corner of the treasure-chest.
When I stooped over him I found, to my horror, that he was
dead.
“For a long time I sat half-distracted, wondering what
I should do. My first impulse was, of course, to call for
assistance; but I could not but recognize that there was
every chance that I would be accused of his murder. His
death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in his head,
would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry could
not be made without bringing out some facts about the
treasure which I was particularly anxious to keep secret.
He had told me that no soul upon earth knew where he had
gone. There seemed to be no necessity why any soul ever
should know.
“'I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking
up, I saw my servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He
stole in, and bolted the door behind him. “Do not fear,
sahib," he said. “No one need know that you have killed
him. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?” “I did
not kill him," said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head, and
smiled. “I heard it all, sahib,” said he. “I heard you quar-
rel, and I heard the blow. But my lips are sealed. All are
asleep in the house. Let us put him away together.” That
was enough to decide me. If my own servant could not be-
lieve my innocence, how could I hope to make it good before
twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and
I disposed of the body that night, and within a few days the
London papers were full of the mysterious disappearance of
Captain Morstan. You will see from what I say that I can
hardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in the fact
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· THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
that we concealed, not only the body, but also the treasure,
and that I have clung to Morstan's share as well as to my
own. I wish you, therefore, to make restitution. Put your
ears down to my mouth. The treasure is hidden in At
this instant a horrible change came over his expression; his
eyes stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled, in a voice
which I can never forget, 'Keep him out! For Christ's sake,
keep him out! We both stared round at the window behind
us upon which his gaze was fixed. A face was looking in at
us out of the darkness. We could see the whitening of the
nose where it was pressed against the glass. It was a
bearded, hairy face, with wild, cruel eyes and an expression
of concentrated malevolence. My brother and I rushed
toward the window, but the man was gone. When we re-
turned to my father, his head had dropped and his pulse had
ceased to beat.
“We searched the garden that night, but found no sign of
the intruder, save that just under the window a single foot-
mark was visible in the flower-bed. But for that one trace,
we might have thought that our imaginations had conjured
up that wild, fierce face. We soon, however, had another
and a more striking proof that there were secret agencies at
work all around us. The window of my father's room was
found open in the morning, his cupboards and boxes had
been rified, and upon his chest was fixed a torn piece of
paper with the words, 'The sign of the four scrawled across
it. What the phrase meant, or who our secret visitor may
have been, we never knew. As far as we can judge, none of
my father's property had been actually stolen, though every-
thing had been turned out. My brother and I naturally asso-
ciated this peculiar incident with the fear which haunted my
father during his life; but it is still a complete mystery to us."
The little man stopped to relight his hookah, and puffed
thoughtfully for a few moments. We had all sat absorbed,
listening to his extraordinary narrative. At the short ac-
count of her father's death Miss Morstan had turned deathly
white, and for a moment I feared that she was about to
faint. She rallied, however, on drinking a glass of water
which I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafe
Vol. 1
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
upon the side table. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his
chair with an abstracted expression and the lids drawn over
his glittering eyes. As I glanced at him I could not but
think how on that very day he had complained bitterly of
the commonplaceness of life. Here, at least, was a problem
which would tax his sagacity to the utmost. Mr. Thaddeus
Sholto looked from one to the other of us with an obvious
pride at the effect which his story had produced, and then
continued between the puffs of his overgrown pipe:
"My brother and I,” said he, "were, as you may im-
agine, much excited as to the treasure which my father had
spoken of. For weeks and for months we dug and delved
in every part of the garden, without discovering its where-
abouts. It was maddening to think that the hiding-place was
on his very lips at the moment that he died. We could judge
the splendor of the missing riches by the chaplet which he
had taken out. Over this chaplet my brother Bartholomew
and I had some little discussion. The pearls were evidently
of great value, and he was averse to part with them, for, be-
tween friends, my brother was himself a little inclined to my
father's fault. He thought, too, that if we parted with the
chaplet it might give rise to gossip, and finally bring us into
trouble. It was all that I could do to persuade him to let me
find out Miss Morstan's address and send her a detached
pearl at fixed intervals, so that, at least, she might never feel
destitute."
"It was a kindly thought,” said our companion, earnestly.
"It was extremely good of you.”
The little man waved his hand deprecatingly. “We were
your trustees,” he said. “That was the view which I took of
it, though brother Bartholomew could not altogether see it
in that light. We had plenty of money ourselves. I desired
no more. Besides, it would have been such bad taste to have
treated a young lady in so scurvy á fashion. •Le mauvais
gout mene au crime.' The French have a very neat way of
putting these things. Our difference of opinion on this sub-
ject went so far that I thought it best to set up rooms for
myself; so I left Pondicherry Lodge, taking the old khit-
mutgar and Williams with me. Yesterday, however, I learned
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
that an event of extreme importance had occurred. The
treasure has been discovered. I instantly communicated with
Miss Morstan, and it only remains for us to drive out to
Norwood and demand our share. I explained my views last
night to brother Bartholomew; so we shall be expected, if
not welcome, visitors.”
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased, and sat twitching on his
luxurious settee. We all remained silent, with our thoughts
upon the new development which the mysterious business
had taken. Holmes was the first to spring to his feet.
"You have done well, sir, from first to last,” said he. “It
is possible that we may be able to make you some small re-
turn by throwing some light upon that which is still dark to
you. But, as Miss Morstan remarked just now, it is late,
and we had best put the matter through without delay.”
Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube
of his hookah, and produced from behind a curtain a very
long befrogged top-coat with astrakhan collar and cuffs.
This he buttoned tightly up, in spite of the extreme close-
ness of the night, and finished his attire by putting on a
rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which covered the ears,
so that no part of him was visible save his mobile and peaky
face. “My health is somewhat fragile,” he remarked, as he
led the way down the passage. “I am compelled to be a
valetudinarian.”
Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our program was
evidently prearranged, for the driver started off at once at
a rapid pace. Thaddeus Sholto talked incessantly, in a voice
which rose high above the rattle of the wheels.”
“Bartholomew is a clever fellow," said he. “How do you
think he found out where the treasure was? He had come
to the conclusion that it was somewhere indoors; so he
worked out all the cubic space of the house, and made meas-
urements everywhere, so that not one inch should be unac-
counted for. Among other things, he found that the height
of the building was seventy-four feet, but on adding together
the heights of all the separate rooms, and making every
allowance for the space between, which he ascertained by
borings, he could not bring the total to more than seventy
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
feet. There were four feet unaccounted for. These could
only be at the top of the building. He knocked a hole, there-
fore, in the lath and plaster ceiling of the highest room, and
there, sure enough, he came upon another little garret above
it, which had been sealed up and was known to no one. In
the centre stood the treasure-chest, resting upon two rafters.
He lowered it through the hole, and there it lies. He com-
putes the value of the jewels at not less than half a million
sterling.”
At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one
another open-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her
rights, would change from a needy governess to the richest
heiress in England. Surely it was the place of a loyal friend
to rejoice at such news; yet I am ashamed to say that selfish-
ness took me by the soul, and that my heart turned as heavy
as lead within me. I stammered out some few halting words
of congratulation, and then sat downcast, with my head
drooped, deaf to the babble of our new acquaintance. He
was clearly a confirmed hypochondriac, and I was dreamily
conscious that he was pouring forth interminable trains of
symptoms, and imploring information as to the composition
and action of innumerable quack nostrums, some of which he
bore about in a leather case in his pocket. I trust that he
may not remember any of the answers which I gave him that
night. Holmes declares that he overheard me caution him
against the great danger of taking more than two drops of
castor oil, while I recommended strychnine in larger doses as
a sedative. However that may be, I was certainly relieved
when our cab pulled up with a jerk and the coachman sprang
down to open the door.
“This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge,” said Mr.
Thaddeus Sholto, as he handed her out.
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CHAPTER V
The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge
It was nearly eleven o'clock when we reached this final
stage of our night's adventures. We had left the damp
fog of the great city behind us, and the night was fairly
fine. A warm wind blew from the westward, and heavy
clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half a moon peep-
ing occasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough to
see for some distance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of
the side-lamps from the carriage to give us a better light
upon our way.
Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds, and was
girt round with a very high stone wall topped with broken
glass. A single narrow, iron-clamped door formed the only
means of entrance. On this our guide knocked with a pecul-
iar postman-like rat-tat.
"Who is there?" cried a gruff voice from within.
"It is I, McMurdo. You surely know my knock by this
time.”
There was a grumbling sound, and a clanking and jarring
of keys. The door swung heavily back, and a short, deep-
chested man stood in the opening, with the yellow light of
the lantern shining upon his protruded face and twinkling,
distrustful eyes.
"That you, Mr. Thaddeus? But who are the others? I
had no orders about them from the master.”
"No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my brother
last night that I should bring some friends."
"He hain't been out o' his room to-day, Mr. Thaddeus,
and I have no orders. You know very well that I must stick
to regulations. I can let you in; but your friends they must
just stop where they are.”
This was an unexpected obstacle! Thaddeus Sholto
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
looked about him in a perplexed and helpless manner. “This
is too bad of you, McMurdo!” he said. "If I guarantee them,
that is enough for you. There is a young lady, too. She
can not wait on the public road at this hour.”
“Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus," said the porter, inexorably.
“Folk may be friends o' yours, and yet no friends o' the
master's. He pays me well to do my duty, and my duty I'll
do. I don't know none o' your friends.”
"Oh, yes, you do, McMurdo,” cried Sherlock Holmes,
genially. “I don't think you can have forgotten me. Don't
you remember the amateur who fought three rounds with
you at Alison's rooms on the night of your benefit four years
back?”
“Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" roared the prize-fighter.
“God's truth! how could I have mistook you? If, instead o'
standin' there so quiet, you had just stepped up and given
me that cross-hit of yours under the jaw, I'd ha' known you
without a question. Ah, you're one that has wasted your
gifts, you have! You might have aimed high, if you had
joined the fancy."
“You see, Watson, if all else fails me I have still one of
the scientific professions open to me,” said Holmes, laugh-
ing. “Our friend won't keep us out in the cold now, I am
sure."
“In you come, sir; in you come—you and your friends,"
he answered. “Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus, but orders are
very strict. Had to be certain of your friends before I let
them in."
Inside a gravel path wound through desolate grounds to
a huge clump of a house, square and prosaic, all plunged in
shadow save where a moonbeam struck one corner and glim-
mered in a garret window. The vast size of the building,
with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck a chill to the
heart. Even Thaddeus Sholto seemed ill at ease, and the
lantern quivered and rattled in his hand.
"I can not understand it,” he said. “There must be some
mistake. I distinctly told Bartholomew that we should be
here, and yet there is no light in his window. I do not know
what to make of it."
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“Does he always guard the premises in this way?” asked
Holmes.
“Yes; he has followed my father's custom. He was the
favorite son, you know, and I sometimes think that my father
may have told him more than he ever told me. That is Bar-
tholomew's window up there where the moonshine strikes.
It is quite bright, but there is no light from within, I think.”
"None,” said Holmes. “But I see the glint of a light in
that little window beside the door."
"Ah, that is the housekeeper's room. That is where old
Mrs. Bernstone sits. She can tell us all about it. But per-
haps you would not mind waiting here for a minute or two,
for if we all go in together, and she has had no word of our
coming, she may be alarmed. But hush! what is that?"
He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the
circles of light Alickered and wavered all round us. Miss
Morstan seized my wrist, and we all stood with thumping
hearts, straining our ears. From the great black house there
sounded through the silent night the saddest and most piti-
ful of sounds—the shrill, broken whimpering of a frightened
woman.
“It is Mrs. Bernstone,” said Sholto. “She is the only
woman in the house. Wait here, I shall be back in a mo-
ment.” He hurried for the door, and knocked in his pecul-
iar way. We could see a tall old woman admit him and
sway with pleasure at the very sight of him.
“Oh, Mr. Thaddeus, sir, I am so glad you have come! I
am so glad you have come, Mr. Thaddeus, sir!" We heard
her reiterated rejoicings until the door was closed and her
voice died away into a muffled monotone.
Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it slowly.
round, and peered keenly at the house and at the great rub-
bish-heaps which cumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan and
I stood together, and her hand was in mine. A wondrous
subtle thing is love, for here were we two who had never
seen each other before that day, between whom no word or
even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an
hour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other.
I have marveled at it since, but at the time it seemed the
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
most natural thing that I should go out to her so, and, as she
has often told me, there was in her also the instinct to turn
to me for comfort and protection. So we stood hand in hand,
like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all
the dark things that surrounded us.
“What a strange place!" she said, looking round.
"It looks as though all the moles in England had been let
loose in it. I have seen something of the sort on the side of
a hill near Ballarat, where the prospectors had been at work.”
“And from the same cause," said Holmes. “These are the
traces of the treasure-seekers. You must remember that
they were six years looking for it. No wonder that the
grounds look like a gravel-pit.”
At that moment the door of the house burst open, and
Thaddeus Sholto came running out, with his hands thrown
forward and terror in his eyes.
“There is something amiss with Bartholomew!” he cried.
“I am frightened! My nerves can not stand it.” He was,
indeed, half-blubbering with fear, and his twitching, feeble
face, peeping out from the great astrakhan collar, had the
helpless, appealing expression of a terrified child.
“Come into the house," said Holmes, in his crisp, firm
way.
“Yes, do!” pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. “I really do not
feel equal to giving directions."
We all followed him into the housekeeper's room, which
stood upon the left-hand side of the passage. The old woman
was pacing up and down with a scared look and restless,
picking fingers, but the sight of Miss Morstan appeared to
have a soothing effect upon her.
“God bless your sweet calm face!" she cried, with a hys-
terical sob. “It does me good to see you. Oh, but I have
been sorely tried this day!”
Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand, and
murmured some few words of kindly, womanly comfort
which brought the color back into the other's bloodless
cheeks.
“Master has locked himself in and will not answer me,"
she explained. "All day I have waited to hear from him, for
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
he often likes to be alone; but an hour ago I feared that
something was amiss, so I went up and peeped through the
keyhole. You must go up, Mr. Thaddeus-you must go up
and look for yourself. I have seen Mr. Bartholomew Sholto
in joy and in sorrow for ten long years, but I never saw him
with such a face on him as that.”
Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, for
Thaddeus Sholto's teeth were chattering in his head. So
shaken was he that I had to pass my hand under his arm
as we went up the stairs, for his knees were trembling under
him. Twice as we ascended Holmes whipped his lens out of
his pocket and carefully examined marks which appeared to
me to be mere shapeless smudges of dust upon the cocoanut
matting which served as a stair-carpet. He walked slowly
from step to step, holding the lamp low, and shooting keen
glances to right and left. Miss Morstan had remained be-
hind with the frightened housekeeper.
The third fight of stairs ended in a straight passage of
some length, with a great picture in Indian tapestry upon
the right of it and three doors upon the left. Holmes ad.
vanced along it in the same slow and methodical way, while
we kept close at his heels, with our long black shadows
streaming backward down the corridor. The third door was
that which we were seeking. Holmes knocked without re-
ceiving any answer, and then tried to turn the handle and
force it open. It was locked on the inside, however, and by
a broad and powerful bolt, as we could see when we set our
lamp up against it. The key being turned, however, the hole
was not entirely closed. Sherlock Holmes bent down to it,
and instantly rose again with a sharp intaking of the
breath.
“There is something devilish in this, Watson," said he,
more moved than I had ever before seen him. “What do
you make of it?”
I stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror. Moonlight
was streaming into the room, and it was bright with a vague
and shifty radiance. Looking straight at me, and suspended,
as it were, in the air, for all beneath was in shadow, there
hung a face—the very face of our companion Thaddeus.
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There was the same high, shining head, the same circular
bristle of red hair, the same bloodless countenance. The
features were set, however, in a horrible smile, a fixed and
unnatural grin, which, in that still and moonlit room, was
more jarring to the nerves than any scowl or contortion. So
like was the face to that of our little friend that I looked
round at him to make sure that he was indeed with us. Then
I recalled to mind that he had mentioned to us that his
brother and he were twins.
"This is terrible!” I said to Holmes. "What is to be
done?"
“The door must come down,” he answered, and, spring-
ing against it, he put all his weight upon the lock. It creaked
and groaned, but did not yield. Together we Aung ourselves
upon it once more, and this time it gave way with a sudden
snap, and we found ourselves within Bartholomew Sholto's
chamber.
It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical labora-
tory. A double line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn
up upon the wall opposite the door, and the table was lit-
tered over with Bunsen burners, test-tubes, and retorts. In
the corners stood carboys of acid in wicker baskets. One of
these appeared to leak or to have been broken, for a stream
of dark-colored liquid had trickled out from it, and the air
was heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tar-like odor. A set
of steps stood at one side of the room, in the midst of a litter
of lath and plaster, and above them there was an opening in
the ceiling large enough for a man to pass through. At the
foot of the steps a long coil of rope was thrown carelessly
together.
By the table, in a wooden armchair, the master of the
house was seated all in a heap, with his head sunk upon his
left shoulder, and that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon his
face. He was stiff and cold, and had clearly been dead many
hours. It seemed to me that not only his features but all his
limbs were twisted and turned in the most fantastic fashion.
By his hand upon the table there lay a peculiar instrument-
a brown, close-grained stick, with a stone head like a ham-
mer, rudely lashed on with coarse twine. Beside it was a
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
torn sheet of note-paper with some words scrawled upon it.
Holmes glanced at it, and then handed it to me.
“You see,” he said, with a significant raising of the eye-
brows.
In the light of the lantern I read, with a thrill of horror,
“The sign of the four.”
"In God's name, what does it all mean?” I asked.
"It means murder," said he, stooping over the dead man.
“Ah, I expected it. Look here!" He pointed to what looked
like a long, dark thorn stuck in the skin just above the ear.
"It looks like a thorn,” said I.
"It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful, for
it is poisoned."
I took it up between my finger and thumb. It came away
from the skin so readily that hardly any mark was left be-
hind. One tiny speck of blood showed where the puncture
had been.
“This is all an insoluble mystery to me," said I. “It
grows darker instead of clearer.”
“On the contrary,” he answered, “it clears every instant.
I only require a few missing links to have an entirely con-
nected case.”
We had almost forgotten our companion's presence since
we entered the chamber. He was still standing in the door-
way, the very picture of terror, wringing his hands and
moaning to himself. Suddenly, however, he broke out into
a sharp, querulous cry.
“The treasure is gone!” he said. "They have robbed him
of the treasure! There is the hole through which we low-
ered it. I helped him to do it! I was the last person who
saw him! I left him here last night, and I heard him lock
the door as I came downstairs."
"What time was that?"
"It was ten o'clock. And now he is dead, and the police
will be called in, and I shall be suspected of having had a
hand in it. Oh, yes, I am sure I shall. But you don't think
so, gentlemen? Surely you don't think that it was I? Is it
likely that I would have brought you here if it were I? Oh,
dear! oh, dear! I know that I shall go mad!" He
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive
frenzy.
"You have no reason to fear, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes,
kindly, putting his hand upon his shoulder. “Take my advice,
and drive down to the station and report the matter to the
police. Offer to assist them in every way. We shall wait
here until your return."
The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and we
heard him stumbling down the stairs in the dark.
CHAPTER VI
Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration
"Now, Watson," said Holmes, rubbing his hands, "we have
half an hour to ourselves. Let us make good use of it. My
case is, as I have told you, almost complete; but we must not
err on the side of overconfidence. Simple as the case seems
now, there may be something deeper underlying it."
“Simple!" I ejaculated.
“Surely,” said he, with something of the air of a clinical
professor expounding to his class. "Just sit in the corner
there, that your footprints may not complicate matters. Now
to work! In the first place, how did these folks come, and
how did they go? The door has not been opened since last
night. How of the window?" He carried the lamp across to
it, muttering his observations aloud the while, but addressing
them to himself rather than to me. “Window is snibbed on
the inner side. Framework is solid. No hinges at the side.
Let us open it. No water-pipe near it. Roof quite out of
reach. Yet a man has mounted by the window. It rained
a little last night. Here is the print of a foot in mold upon
the sill. And here is a circular muddy mark, and here again
upon the floor, and here again by the table. See here, Wat-
son! This is really a very pretty demonstration.”
I looked at the round, well-defined, muddy disks. “This
is not a footmark,” said I.
"It is something much more valuable to us. It is the im-
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
pression of a wooden stump. You see here on the sill is the
boot-mark, a heavy boot with a broad metal heel, and beside
it is the mark of the timber-toe."
"It is the wooden-legged man."
“Quite so. But there has been someone else-a very
able and efficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?"
I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone
brightly on that angle of the house. We were a good sixty
feet from the ground, and, look where I would, I could see
no foothold, nor as much as a crevice in the brick-work.
"It is absolutely impossible," I answered.
"Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up
here who lowered you this good stout rope which I see in
the corner, securing one end of it to this great hook in the
wall. Then, I think, if you were an active man you might
climb up, wooden leg and all. You would depart, of course,
in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up the rope,
untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it on the in-
side, and get away in the way that he originally came. As a
minor point it may be noted," he continued, fingering the
rope, "that our wooden-legged friend, though a fair climber,
was not a professional sailor. His hands were far from
horny. My lens discloses more than one blood-mark, espe-
cially toward the end of the rope, from which I gather that
he slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin off
his hands.”
“This is all very well,” said I, “but the thing becomes
more unintelligible than ever. How about this mysterious
ally? How came he into the room?"
“Yes, the ally!" repeated Holmes, pensively. “There are
features of interest about this ally. He lifts the case from
the regions of the commonplace. I fancy that this ally
breaks fresh ground in the annals of crime in this country-
though parallel cases suggest themselves from India, and,
if my memory serves me, from Senegambia.”
“How came he, then?” I reiterated. “The door is locked,
the window is inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?"
"The grate is much too small," he answered. “I have
already considered that possibility.”
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“How then?” I persisted.
“You will not apply my precept,” he said, shaking his
head. “How often have I said to you that when you have
eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however im-
probable, must be the truth? We know that he did not come
through the door, the window, or the chimney. We also
know that he could not have been concealed in the room,
as there is no concealment possible. Where, then, did he
come?”
“He came through the hole in the roof," I cried.
"Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will
have the kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now
extend our researches to the room above—the secret room
in which the treasure was found.”
He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either
hand, he swung himself up into the garret. Then, lying on
his face, he reached down for the lamp and held it while I
followed him.
The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten
feet one way and six the other. The floor was formed by
the rafters, with thin lath and plaster between them, so that
in walking one had to step from beam to beam. The roof
ran up to an apex, and was evidently the inner shell of the
true roof of the house. There was no furniture of any
sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay thick upon
the floor.
"Here you are, you see,” said Sherlock Holmes, putting
his hand against the sloping wall. “This is a trap-door which
leads out on to the roof. I can press it back, and here is
the roof itself, sloping at a gentle angle. This, then, is the
way by which Number One entered. Let us see if we can
find some other traces of his individuality.”
He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I
saw for the second time that night a startled, surprised look
come over his face. For myself, as I followed his gaze, my
skin was cold under my clothes. The floor was covered
thickly with the prints of a naked foot-clear, well defined,
perfectly formed, but scarce half the size of those of an
ordinary man.
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
“Holmes," I said, in a whisper, "a child has done this
horrid thing."
He had recovered his self-possession in an instant. "I
was staggered for the moment,” he said, “but the thing is
quite natural. My memory failed me, or I should have been
able to foretell it. There is nothing more to be learned here.
Let us go down.”
“What is your theory, then, as to those foot-marks?” I
asked, eagerly, when we had regained the lower room once
more.
“My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself,” said
he, with a touch of impatience. “You know my methods.
Apply them; and it will be instructive to compare results."
"I can not conceive anything which will cover the facts,"
I answered.
"It will be clear enough to you soon,” he said, in an off-
hand way. "I think that there is nothing else of importance
here, but I will look.” He whipped out his lens and a tape-
measure, and comparing, examining, with his long thin nose
only a few inches from the planks, and his beady eyes gleam-
ing and deep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent, and
furtive were his movements, like those of a trained blood-
hound picking out a scent, that I could not but think what
a terrible criminal he would have made had he turned his
energy and sagacity against the law instead of exerting them
in its defense. As he hunted about, he kept muttering to
himself, and finally he broke out into a loud crow of delight.
“We are certainly in luck," said he. “We ought to have
very little trouble now. Number One has had the misfor-
tune to tread in the creosote. You can see the outline of the
edge of his small foot here at the right of this evil-smelling
mess. The carboy has been cracked, you see, and the stuff
has leaked out."
“What then?” I asked.
“Why, we have got him, that's all,” said he. “I know
a dog that would follow that scent to the world's end. If
a pack can track a trailed herring across a shire, how far
can a specially trained hound follow so pungent a smell as
this? It sounds like a sum in the rule of three. The answer
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
should give us the- But halloo! here are the accredited
representatives of the law.”
Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible
from below, and the hall door shut with a loud crash.
“Before they come,” said Holmes, "just put your hand
here on this poor fellow's arm, and here on his leg. What
do you feel?”
“The muscles are as hard as a board," I answered.
“Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction,
far exceeding the usual frigor mortis. Coupled with this
distortion of the face, this Hippocratic smile, or “risus sar-
donicus,' as the old writers called it, what conclusion would
it suggest to your mind?”
“Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid," I an-
swered; "some strychnine-like substance which would pro-
ducć tetanus."
“That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I
saw the drawn muscles of the face. On getting into the
room I at once looked for the means by which the poison
had entered the system. As you saw, I discovered a thorn
which had been driven or shot with no great force into the
scalp. You observe that the part struck was that which
would be turned toward the hole in the ceiling if the man
were erect in his chair. Now examine this thorn."
I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lan-
tern. It was long, sharp, and black, with a glazed look near
the point as though some gummy substance had dried upon
it. The blunt end had been trimmed and rounded off with a
knife.
"Is that an English thorn?” he asked.
“No, it certainly is not."
“With all these data you should be able to draw some just
inference. But here are the regulars; so the auxiliary forces
may beat a retreat.”.
As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer
sounded loudly on the passage, and a very stout, portly man
in a gray suit strode heavily into the room. He was red-
faced, burly, and plethoric, with a pair of very small twink-
ling eyes which looked keenly out from between swollen and
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
puffy pouches. He was closely followed by an inspector in
uniform, and by the still palpitating Thaddeus Sholto.
"Here's a business!” he cried, in a muffled, husky voice.
"Here's a pretty business! But who are all these? Why,
the house seems to be as full as a rabbit-warren.”
“I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones,"
said Holmes quietly.
"Why, of course I do!” he wheezed. "It's Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, the theorist. Remember you! I'll never forget how
you lectured us all on causes, and inferences, and effects in
the Bishopsgate jewel case. It's true you set us on the right
track, but you'll own now that it was more by good luck
than good guidance.”
"It was a piece of very simple reasoning."
“Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up.
But what is all this? Bad business! Bad business! Stern
facts here—no room for theories. How lucky that I hap-
pened to be out at Norwood over another case! I was at
the station when the message arrived. What d’you think the
man died of?”
“Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over,” said
Holmes, dryly.
“No, no. Still, we can't deny that you hit the nail on the
head sometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I understand.
Jewels worth half a million missing. How was the window?"
"Fastened; but there are steps on the sill.”
"Well, well; if it was fastened, the steps could have noth-
ing to do with the matter. That's common sense. Man
might have died in a fit; but then the jewels are missing.
Ha! I have a theory. These flashes come upon me at times.
Just step outside, sergeant, and you, Mr. Sholto. Your friend
can remain. What do you think of this, Holmes? Sholto
was, on his own confession, with his brother last night. The
brother died in a fit, on which Sholto walked off with the
treasure. How's that?"
“On which the dead man very considerately got up and
locked the door on the inside."
“Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply common
sense to the matter. This Thaddeus Sholto was with his
ІбI


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
brother; there was a quarrel; so much we know. The brother
is dead and the fewels are gone. So much also we know.
No one saw the brother from the time Thaddeus left him.
His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a
most disturbed state of mind. His appearance is—well, not
attractive. You see that I am weaving my web round Thad-
deus. The net begins to close upon him.”
"You are not quite in possession of the facts yet,” said
Holmes. “This splinter of wood, which I have every reason
to believe to be poisoned, was in the man's scalp where you
still see the mark; this card, inscribed as you see it, was on
the table; and beside it lay this rather curious stone-headed
instrument. How does all this fit into your theory?”.
“Confirms it in every respect," said the fat detective,
pompously. “House is full of Indian curiosities. Thaddeus
brought this up, and if this splinter be poisonous Thaddeus
may as well have made murderous use of it as any other
man. The card is some hocus pocus-a blind, as like as not.
The only question is, How did he depart? Ah, of course,
here is a hole in the roof.” With great activity, consid-
ering his bulk, he sprang up the steps and squeezed through
into the garret, and immediately afterward we heard his
exulting voice proclaiming that he had found the trap-
door.
- "He can find something,” remarked Holmes, shrugging
his shoulders. “He has occasional glimmerings of reason.
I'l n'y a pas des sots si incommodes que ceux qui ont de
l'esprit!”
"You see!” said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the
steps again. “Facts are better than mere theories, after all.
My view of the case is confirmed. There is a trap-door com-
municating with the roof, and it is partly open.”
“It was I who opened it.”
“Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?” He seemed a lit-
tle crestfallen at the discovery. “Well, whoever noticed it, it
shows how our gentleman got away. Inspector!"
“Yes, sir," from the passage.
“Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way. Mr. Sholto, it is my
duty to inform you that anything which you may say will be
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
used against you. I arrest you in the queen's name as being
concerned in the death of your brother."
“There, now! Didn't I tell you?” cried the poor little
man, throwing out his hands, and looking from one to the
other of us.
"Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes.
"I think that I can engage to clear you of the charge."
“Don't promise too much, Mr. Theorist-don't promise
too much!” snapped the detective. “You may find it a harder
matter than you think."
"Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make
you a free present of the name and description of one of the
two people who were in the room last night. His name, I
have every reason to believe, is Jonathan Small. He is a
poorly educated man; small, active, with his right leg off,
and wearing a wooden stump which is worn away upon the
inner side. His left boot has a coarse, square-toed sole, with
an iron band round the heel. He is a middle-aged man, much
sunburned, and has been a convict. These few indications
may be of some assistance to you, coupled with the fact that
there is a good deal of skin missing from the palm of his
hand. The other man—".
“Ah! the other man?” asked Athelney Jones, in a sneer-
ing voice, but impressed none the less, as I could easily see,
by the precision of the other's manner.
"Is a rather curious person," said Sherlock Holmes,
turning upon his heel. “I hope before very long to be able
to introduce you to the pair of them. A word with you,
Watson.”
He led me out to the head of the stair. “This unexpected
occurrence,” he said, "has caused us rather to lose sight of
the original purpose of our journey."
“I have just been thinking so," I answered. “It is not
right that Miss Morstan should remain in this stricken
house."
“No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs.
Cecil Forrester, in Lower Camberwell; so it is not very far.
I will wait for you here, if you will drive out again. Or
perhaps you are too tired?"
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
"By no means. I don't think I could rest until I know
more of this fantastic business. I have seen something of
the rough side of life, but I give you my word that this quick
succession of strange surprises to-night has shaken my
nerve completely. I should like, however, to see the matter
through with you, now that I have got so far.”
“Your presence will be of great service to me,” he an-
swered. “We shall work the case out independently, and
leave this fellow Jones to exult over any mare's-nest which
he may choose to construct. When you have dropped Miss
Morstan I wish you to go to No. 3 Pinchin Lane, down near
the water's edge, at Lambeth. The third house on the right-
hand side is a bird-stuffer's; Sherman is the name. You will
see a weasel holding a young rabbit in the window. Rouse
old Sherman up, and tell him, with my compliments, that I
want Toby at once. You will bring Toby back in the cab
with you."
“A dog, I suppose?"
“Yes, a queer mongrel, with a most amazing power of
scent. I would rather have Toby's help than that of the
whole detective force of London."
“I shall bring him, then," said I. "It is one now. I ought
to be back before three, if I can get a fresh horse.”
“And I," said Holmes, “shall see what I can learn from
Mrs. Bernstone, and from the Indian servant, who, Mr.
Thaddeus tells me, sleeps in the next garret. Then I shall
study the great Jones's methods, and listen to his not too
delicate sarcasms. Wir sind gewohnt, dass die Menschen
verhohnen was sie nicht verstehen.' Goethe is always pithy."
CHAPTER VII
The Episode of the Barrel
The police had brought a cab with them, and in this I
escorted Miss Morstan back to her home. After the
angelic fashion of women, she had borne trouble with
a calm face as long as there was some one weaker than her-
self to support, and I had found her bright and placid by the
164


THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
side of the frightened housekeeper. In the cab, however, she
first turned faint, and then burst into a passion of weeping,
so sorely had she been tried by the adventures of the
night.
She has told me since that she thought me cold and distant
upon that journey. She little guessed the struggle within my
breast, or the effort of self-restraint which held me back. My
sympathies and my love went out to her, even as my hand
had in the garden. I felt that years of the conventionalities
of life could not teach me to know her sweet, brave nature
as had this one day of strange experiences. Yet there were
two thoughts which sealed the words of affection upon my
lips. She was weak and helpless, shaken in mind and nerve.
It was to take her at a disadvantage to obtrude love upon her
at such a time. Worse still she was rich. If Holmes's re-
searches were successful, she would be an heiress. Was it
fair, was it honorable, that a half-pay surgeon should take
such advantage of an intimacy which chance had brought
about? Might she not look upon me as a mere vulgar for-
tune-seeker? I could not bear to risk that such a thought
should cross her mind. This Agra treasure intervened like
an impassable barrier between us.
It was nearly two o'clock when we reached Mrs. Cecil
Forrester's. The servants had retired hours ago, but Mrs.
Forrester had been so interested by the strange message
which Miss Morstan had received, that she had sat up in
the hope of her return. She opened the door herself, a
middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how
tenderly her arm stole round the other's waist, and how
motherly was the voice in which she greeted her. She was
clearly no mere paid dependent, but an honored friend. I
was introduced, and Mrs. Forrester earnestly begged me to
step in and to tell her our adventures. I explained, however,
the importance of my errand, and promised faithfully to call
and report any progress which we might make with the case.
As we drove away I stole a glance back, and I still seem to
see that little group on the step, the two graceful, clinging
figures, the half-opened door, the hall light shining through
stained glass, the barometer, and the bright stair-rods. It
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
was soothing to catch even that passing glimpse of a tran-
quil English home in the midst of the wild, dark business
which had absorbed us.
And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder
and darker it grew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary
sequence of events as I rattled on through the silent, gas-
lighted streets. There was the original problem: that at
least was pretty clear now. The death of Captain Morstan,
the sending of the pearls, the advertisement, the letter-we
had had light upon all those events. They had only led us,
however, to a deeper and far more tragic mystery. The
Indian treasure, the curious plan found among Morstan's
baggage, the strange scene at Major Sholto's death, the
rediscovery of the treasure immediately followed by the
murder of the discoverer, the very singular accompaniments
to the crime, the footsteps, the remarkable weapons, the
words upon the card, corresponding with those upon Captain
Morstan's chart-here was indeed a labyrinth in which a
man less singularly endowed than my fellow-lodger might
well despair at ever finding the clue.
Pinchin Lane was a row of shabby two-storied brick
houses in the lower quarter of Lambeth. I had to knock for
some time at No. 3 before I could make any impression. At
last, however, there was the glint of a candle behind the
blind, and a face looked out at the upper window.
"Go on, you drunken vagabond!” said the face. "If you
kick up any more row I'll open the kennels and let out
forty-three dogs at you."
"If you'll let one out it's just what I have come for,"
said I.
“Go on!” yelled the voice. “So help me gracious, I have
a wiper in this bag, an' I'll drop it on your ’ead if you don't
hook it!"
“But I want a dog," I cried.
“I won't be argued with!" shouted Mr. Sherman. "Now
stand clear; for when I say 'three,' down goes the wiper."
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes—" I began; but the words had a
most magical effect, for the window instantly slammed down,
and within a minute the door was unbarred and open. Mr.
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
Sherman was a lanky, lean old man, with stooping shoulders,
a stringy neck, and blue-tinted glasses.
"A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome,” said he.
"Step in, sir. Keep clear of the badger; for he bites. Ah,
naughty, naughty! would you take a nip at the gentleman ?”
This to a stoat which thrust its wicked head and red eyes
between the bars of its cage. “Don't mind that, sir; it's
only a slow-worm. It hain't got no fangs, so I gives it the
run o' the room, for it keeps the beetles down. You must
not mind my bein' just a little short wi' you at first, for I'm
guyed by the children, and there's many a one just comes
down this lane to rouse me up. What was it that Mr. Sher-
lock Holmes wanted, sir?”.
"He wanted a dog of yours.”
“Ah! that would be Toby."
“Yes, Toby was the name.”
“Toby lives at No. 7, on the left here.” He moved slowly
forward with his candle among the queer animal family
which he had gathered round him. In the uncertain, shadowy
light I could see dimly that there were glancing, glimmering
eyes peeping down at us from every cranny and corner.
Even the rafters above our heads were lined by solemn
fowls, who lazily shifted their weight from one leg to the
other as our voices disturbed their slumbers.
Toby proved to be an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared crea-
ture, half spaniel and half lurcher, brown and white in color,
with a very clumsy waddling gait. It accepted, after some
hesitation, a lump of sugar which the old naturalist handed
to me, and having thus sealed an alliance, it followed me to
the cab, and made no difficulties about accompanying me. It
had just struck three on the Palace clock when I found my-
self back once more at Pondicherry Lodge. The ex-prize-
fighter, McMurdo, had, I found, been arrested as an acces-
sory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had been marched off to
the station. Two constables guarded the narrow gate, but
they allowed me to pass with the dog on my mentioning the
detective's name.
Holmes was standing on the doorstep, with his hands in
his pockets, smoking his pipe.
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
"Ah, you have him there!” said he. "Good dog, then!
Athelney Jones has gone. We have had an immense display
of energy since you left. He has arrested not only friend
Thaddeus, but the gatekeeper, the housekeeper, and the In-
dian servant. We have the place to ourselves but for a
sergeant upstairs. Leave the dog here and come up."
We tied Toby to the hall table, and reascended the stairs.
The room was as we had left it, save that a sheet had been
draped over the central figure. A weary-looking police-
sergeant reclined in the corner.
“Lend me your bull's-eye, sergeant," said my companion.
“Now tie this bit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in
front of me. Thank you. Now I must kick off my boots and
stockings. Just you carry them down with you, Watson. I
am going to do a little climbing. And dip my handkerchief
into the creosote. That will do. Now come up into the
garret with me for a moment."
We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his
light once more upon the footsteps in the dust.
"I wish particularly to notice these foot-marks," he said.
“Do you observe anything noteworthy about them?"
“They belong,” I said, “to a child or a small woman."
“Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing else?"
“They appear to be much as other foot-marks.”
“Not at all. Look here! This is the print of a right foot
in the dust. Now I make one with my naked foot beside it.
What is the chief difference?"
“Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has
each toe distinctly divided."
“Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now,
would you kindly step over to that flap-window and smell the
edge of the woodwork? I shall stay over here as I have
this handkerchief in my hand."
I did as he directed, and was instantly conscious of a
strong tarry smell.
“That is where he put his foot in getting out. If you can
trace him, I should think that Toby will have no difficulty.
Now run downstairs, loose the dog, and look out for
Blondin.”
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
By the time that I got out into the grounds, Sherlock
Holmes was on the roof, and I could see him like an enor-
mous glowworm crawling very slowly along the ridge. I
lost sight of him behind a stack of chimneys, but he pres-
ently reappeared, and then vanished once more upon the
opposite side. When I made my way round there I found
him seated at one of the corner eaves.
“That you, Watson?” he cried.
“Yes.”
"This is the place. What is that black thing down
there?
“A water-barrel.”
"Top on it?"
“Yes.”
"No sign of a ladder?"
"No."
"Confound the fellow! It's a most break-neck place. I
ought to be able to come down where he could climb up.
The water-pipe feels pretty firm. Here goes, anyhow."
There was a shuffling of the feet, and the lantern began
to come steadily down the side of the wall. Then with a
light spring he came on to the barrel, and from there to the
earth.
“It was easy to follow him," he said, drawing on his
stockings and boots. “Tiles were loosened the whole way
along, and in his hurry he had dropped this. It confirms my
diagnosis, as you doctors express it."
The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or
pouch woven out of colored grasses and with a few tawdry
beads strung round it. In shape and size it was not unlike
a cigarette-case. Inside were half a dozen spines of dark
wood, sharp at one end and rounded at the other, like that
which had struck Bartholomew Sholto.
“They are hellish things," said he. "Look out that you
don't prick yourself. I'm delighted to have them, for the
chances are that they are all he has. There is the less fear
of you or me finding one in our skin before long. I would
sooner face a Martini bullet myself. Are you game for a
six-mile trudge, Watson?”
(8)
Vol. 1.
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“Certainly," I answered.
“Your leg will stand it?"
"Oh, yes."
“Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby;
smell it!" He pushed the creosote handkerchief under the
dog's nose, while the creature stood with its fluffy legs sep-
arated, and with a most comical cock to its head, like a con-
noisseur sniffing the bouquet of a famous vintage. Holmes
then threw the handkerchief to a distance, fastened a stout
cord to the mongrel's collar, and led him to the foot of the
water-barrel. The creature instantly broke into a succes-
sion of high, tremulous yelps, and, with his nose on the
ground and his tail in the air, pattered off upon the trail at
a pace which strained his leash and kept us at the top of our
speed.
The east had been gradually whitening, and we could
now see some distance in the cold, gray light. The square,
massive house, with its black, empty windows and high, bare
walls, towered up, sad and forlorn, behind us. Our course
led right across the grounds, in and out among the trenches
and pits with which they were scarred and intersected. The
whole place, with its scattered dirt-heaps and ill-grown
shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened look which harmonized
with the black tragedy which hung over it.
On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining
eagerly, underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a cor-
ner screened by a young beech. Where the two walls joined,
several bricks had been loosened, and the crevices left were
worn down and rounded upon the lower side, as though they
had frequently been used as a ladder. Holmes clambered
up, and, taking the dog from me, he dropped it over upon
the other side.
“There's the print of wooden-leg's hand," he remarked,
as I mounted up beside him. “You see the slight smudge
of blood upon the white plaster. What a lucky thing it is
that we have had no very heavy rain since yesterday! The
scent will lie upon the road in spite of their eight-and-twenty
hours' start."
I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
upon the great traffic which had passed along the London
road in the interval. My fears were soon appeased, however.
Toby never hesitated or swerved, but waddled on in his pe-
culiar rolling fashion. Clearly, the pungent smell of the
creosote rose high above all other contending scents.
"Do not imagine,” said Holmes, "that I depend for my
success in this case upon the mere chance of one of these
fellows having put his foot in the chemical. I have knowl-
edge now which would enable me to trace them in many dif-
ferent ways. This, however, is the readiest, and, since for --
tune has put it into our hands, I should be culpable if á
neglected it. It has, however, prevented the case from be-
coming the pretty little intellectual problem which it at one
time promised to be. There might have been some credit to
be gained out of it but for this too palpable clue.”
“There is credit, and to spare,” said I. "I assure you,
Holmes, that I marvel at the means by which you obtain
your results in this case, even more than I did in the Jef-
ferson Hope murder. The thing seems to me to be deeper
and more inexplicable. How, for example, could you describe
with such confidence the wooden-legged man?"
"Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I don't
wish to be theatrical. It is all patent and above-board. Two
officers who are in command of a convict-guard learn an
important secret as to buried treasure. A map is drawn for
them by an Englishman named Jonathan Small. You re-
member that we saw the name upon the chart in Captain
Morstan's possession. He had signed it in behalf of himself
and his associates—the sign of the four, as he somewhat
dramatically called it. Aided by this chart, the officers-or
one of them gets the treasure and brings it to England,
leaving, we will suppose, some condition under which he
received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why did not Jonathan
Small get the treasure himself? The answer is obvious. The
chart is dated at a time when Morstan was brought into close
association with convicts. Jonathan Small did not get the
treasure because he and his associates were themselves con-
victs and could not get away.”
"But this is mere speculation,” said I.
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis which
covers the facts. Let us see how it fits in with the sequel.
Major Sholto remains at peace for some years, happy in the
possession of his treasure. Then he receives a letter from
India which gives him a great fright. What was that?”
“A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged
had been set free.”
“Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he would
have known what their term of imprisonment was. It would
not have been a surprise to him. What does he do then? He
guards himself against a wooden-legged man—a white man,
mark you, for he mistakes a white tradesman for him, and
actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only one white man's
name is on the chart. The others are Hindus or Moham-
medans. There is no other white man. Therefore we may
say with confidence that the wooden-legged man is identical
with Jonathan Small. Does the reasoning strike you as
being faulty?”
“No; it is clear and concise.”
"Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan
Small. Let us look at it from his point of view. He comes
to England with the double idea of regaining what he would
consider to be his rights and of having his revenge upon the
man who had wronged him. He found out where Sholto
lived, and very possibly he established communications with
some one inside the house. There is this butler, Lal Rao,
whom we have not seen. Mrs. Bernstone gives him far from
a good character. Small could not find out, however, where
the treasure was hid, for no one ever knew, save the major
and one faithful servant who had died. Suddenly Small learns
that the major is on his death-bed. In a frenzy lest the secret
of the treasure die with him, he runs the gauntlet of the
guards, makes his way to the dying man's window, and is
only deterred from entering by the presence of his two sons.
Mad with hate, however, against the dead man, he enters the
room that night, searches his private papers in the hope of
discovering some memorandum relating to the treasure, and
finally leaves a memento of his visit in the short inscription
upon the card. He had doubtless planned beforehand that
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
should he slay the major he would leave some such record
upon the body as a sign that it was not a common murder,
but, from the point of view of the four associates, some-
thing in the nature of an act of justice. Whimsical and
bizarre conceits of this kind are common enough in the
annals of crime, and usually afford valuable indications as
to the criminal. Do you follow all this?"
"Very clearly."
“Now, what could Jonathan Small do? He could only
continue to keep a secret watch upon the efforts made to
find the treasure. Possibly he leaves England and only
comes back at intervals. Then comes the discovery of the
garret, and he is instantly informed of it. We again trace
the presence of some confederate in the household. Jon-
athan, with his wooden leg, is utterly unable to reach the
lofty room of Bartholomew Sholto. He takes with him,
however, a rather curious associate, who gets over this dif-
ficulty, but dips his naked foot into creosote, whence come
Toby, and a six-mile limp for a half-pay officer with a dam-
aged tendo Achillis.”
“But it was the associate, and not Jonathan, who com-
mitted the crime.”
"Quite so. And rather to Jonathan's disgust, to judge by
the way he stamped about when he got into the room. He
bore no grudge against Bartholomew Sholto, and would
have preferred if he could have been simply bound and
gagged. He did not wish to put his head in a halter. There
was no help for it, however; the savage instincts of his com-
panion had broken out, and the poison had done its work; so
Jonathan Small left his record, lowered the treasure-box to
the ground, and followed it himself. That was the train of
events as far as I can decipher them. Of course as to his
personal appearance he must be middle-aged, and must be
sunburned after serving his time in such an oven as the
Andamans. His height is readily calculated from the length
of his stride, and we know that he was bearded. His hairi-
ness was the one point which impressed itself upon Thad-
deus Sholto when he saw him at the window. I don't know
that there is anything else."
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“The associate?”
“Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. But you
will know all about it soon enough. How sweet the morning
air is! See how that one little cloud floats like a pink feather
from some gigantic flamingo. Now the red rim of the sun
pushes itself over the London cloud-bank. It shines on a
good many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who is on a stranger
errand than you and I. How small we feel with our petty
ambitions and strivings in the presence of the great elemental
forces of nature! Are you well up in your Jean Paul?”
"Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle."
“That was like following the brook to the parent lake.
He makes one curious but profound remark. It is that the
chief proof of a man's real greatness lies in his perception
of his own smallness. It argues, you see, a power of com-
parison and of appreciation, which is in itself a proof of
nobility. There is much food for thought in Richter. You
have not a pistol, have you?"
“I have my stick."
"It is just possible that we may need something of the
sort if we get to their lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you,
but if the other turns nasty I shall shoot him dead." He
took out his revolver as he spoke, and, having loaded two
of the chambers, he put it back into the right-hand pocket
of his jacket.
We had during this time been following the guidance of
Toby down the half-rural, villa-lined roads which lead to the
metropolis. Now, however, we were beginning to come
among continuous streets, where laborers and dockmen were
already astir, and slatternly women were taking down shut-
ters and brushing doorsteps. At the square-topped corner
public-house business was just beginning, and rough-looking
men were emerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards
after their morning wet. Strange dogs sauntered up, and
stared wonderingly at us as we passed, but our inimitable
Toby looked neither to the right nor to the left, but trotted
onward with his nose to the ground and an occasional eager
whine, which spoke of a hot scent.
We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
now found ourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away
through the side streets to the east of the Oval. The men
whom we pursued seemed to have taken a curiously zigzag
road, with the idea probably of escaping observation. They
had never kept to the main road if a parallel side street
would serve their turn. At the foot of Kennington Lane they
had edged away to the left through Bond Street and Miles
Street. Where the latter street turns into Knight's Place,
Toby ceased to advance, but began to run backward and
forward with one ear cocked and the other drooping, the
very picture of canine indecision. Then he waddled round
in circles, looking up to us from time to time, as if to ask
for sympathy in his embarrassment.
“What the deuce is the matter with the dog?" growled
Holmes. “They surely would not take a cab, or go off in
a balloon.”
“Perhaps they stood here for some time," I suggested.
“Ah! it's all right. He's off again,” said my companion,
in a tone of relief.
He was indeed off; for, after sniffing round again, he sud-
denly made up his mind, and darted away with an energy
and determination such as he had not yet shown. The scent
appeared to be much hotter than before, for he had not even
to put his nose on the ground, but tugged at his leash, and
tried to break into a run. I could see by the gleam in
Holmes's eyes that he thought we were nearing the end of
our journey.
Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to
Broderick and Nelson's large timber-yard, just past the
White Eagle tavern. Here the dog, frantic with excitement,
turned down through the side gate into the enclosure, where
the sawyers were already at work. On the dog raced through
sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a passage, be-
tween two wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant yelp,
sprung upon a large barrel, which still stood upon the hand-
trolley on which it had been brought. With lolling tongue
and blinking eyes, Toby stood upon the cask, looking from
one to the other of us for some sign of appreciation. The
staves of the barrel and the wheels of the trolley were
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
smeared with a dark liquid, and the whole air was heavy
with the smell of creosote.
Sherlock Holmes and I looked at each other, and then
burst simultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
CHAPTER VIII
The Baker Street Irregulars
"What now?” I asked. “Toby has lost his character for
infallibility."
“He acted according to his lights," said Holmes, lift-
ing him down from the barrel and walking him out
of the timber-yard. "If you consider how much creosote
is carried about London in one day, it is no great wonder
that our trail should have been crossed. It is much used
now, especially for the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is
not to blame.”
“We must get on the main scent again, I suppose.”
"Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go.
Evidently what puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight's
Place was that there were two different trails running in
opposite directions. We took the wrong one. It only re-
mains to follow the other.”
There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to
the place where he had committed his fault, he cast about
in a wide circle, and finally dashed off in a fresh direction.
“We must take care that he does not now bring us to the
place where the creosote barrel came from," I observed.
"I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on
the pavement, whereas the barrel passed down the roadway.
No, we are on the true scent now."
It tended down toward the river-side, running through
Belmont Place and Prince's Street. At the end of Broad
Street it ran right down to the water's edge, where there was
a small wooden wharf. Toby led us to the very edge of this,
and there stood whining, looking out on the dark current
beyond.
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
“We are out of luck,” said Holmes. “They have taken
to a boat here.” Several small punts and skiffs were lying
about in the water on the edge of the wharf. We took Toby
round to each in turn, but, though he sniffed earnestly, he
made no sign.
Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house,
with a wooden placard slung out through the second win-
dow. “Mordecai Smith” was printed across it in large let-
ters, and, underneath, "Boats to hire by the hour or day.”
A second inscription above the door informed us that a
steam launch was kept-a statement which was confirmed
by a great pile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes
looked slowly around, and his face assumed an ominous
expression.
“This looks bad," said he. "These fellows are sharper
than I expected. They seem to have covered their tracks.
There has, I fear, been preconcerted management here.”
He was approaching the door of the house, when it
opened, and a little, curly-headed lad of six came running
out, followed by a stoutish, red-faced woman, with a large
sponge in her hand.
"You come back and be washed, Jack!” she shouted.
“Come back, you young imp; for if your father comes home
and finds you like that, he'll let us hear of it!"
“Dear little chap!” said Holmes, strategically, “What a
rosy-cheeked young rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything
you would like?"
The youth pondered for a moment. “I'd like a shillin',”
said he.
“Nothing you would like better?”.
“I'd like two shillin' better," the prodigy answered, after
some thought.
“Here you are, then! Catch! A fine child, Mrs. Smith.”
“Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He get's
a'most too much for me to manage, 'specially when my man
is away days at a time.”
"Away, is he?” said Holmes, in a disappointed voice.
“I am sorry for that, for I wanted to speak to Mr. Smith.”
“He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth
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to tell, I am beginning to feel frightened about him. But
if it was about a boat, sir, maybe I could serve as well.”
"I wanted to hire his steam launch."
“Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has
gone. That's what puzzles me; for I know there ain't more
coals in her than would take her to about Woolwich and
back. If he'd been away in the barge I'd ha' thought nothin';
for many a time a job has taken him as far as Gravesend,
and then if there was much doin' there he might ha' stayed
over. But what good is a steam launch without coals?”
“He might have bought some at a wharf down the river."
“He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many a time I've
heard him call out at the prices they charge for a few odd
bags. Besides, I don't like that wooden-legged man, wi' his
ugly face and outlandish talk. What did he want always
knockin' about here for?”
"A wooden-legged man?” said Holmes, with bland sur-
prise.
“Yes, sir; a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called
more'n once for my old man. It was him that roused him
up yesternight, and what's more, my man knew he was
comin', for he had steam up in the launch. I tell you
straight, sir, I don't feel easy in my mind about it.”
"But, my dear Mrs. Smith,” said Holmes, shrugging his
shoulders, "you are frightening yourself about nothing. How
could you possibly tell that it was the wooden-legged man
who came in the night? I don't quite understand how you
can be so sure."
"His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o' thick
and foggy. He tapped at the winder-about three it would
be. "Show a leg, matey,' says he; "time to turn out guard.'
My old man woke Jim up—that's my eldest-and away they
went, without so much as a word to me. I could hear the
wooden leg clackin' on the stones.”
“And was this wooden-legged man alone?"
"Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear no one else."
"I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch,
and I have heard good reports of the Let me see, what is
her name?"
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
· "The 'Aurora,' sir."
"Ah! She's not that old green launch with a yellow line,
very broad in the beam?".
“No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing as any on the
river. She's been fresh painted, black with two red streaks."
"Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith.
I am going down the river; and if I should see anything of
the 'Aurora' I shall let him know that you are uneasy. A
black funnel, you say?"
“No, sir. Black with a white band.”
"Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good
morning, Mrs. Smith. There is a boatman here with a
wherry, Watson. We shall take it and cross the river.”
“The main thing with people of that sort,” said Holmes,
as we sat in the sheets of the wherry, "is never to let them
think that their information can be of the slightest impor-
tance to you. If you do, they will instantly shut up like an
oyster. If you listen to them under protest, as it were, you
are very likely to get what you want.”
“Our course now seems pretty clear,” said I.
“What would you do then?”
“I would engage a launch and go down the track of the
'Aurora.'”
“My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may
have touched at any wharf on either side of the stream be-
tween here and Greenwich. Below the bridge there is a
perfect labyrinth of landing-places for miles. It would take
you days and days to exhaust them, if you set about it alone.”
“Employ the police then.”
"No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last
moment. He is not a bad fellow, and I should not like to
do anything which would injure him professionally. But I
have a fancy for working it out myself, now that we have
gone so far.”
"Could we advertise, then, asking for information from
wharfingers?"
“Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase
was hot at their heels, and they would be off out of the
country. As it is, they are likely enough to leave, but as
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
long as they think they are perfectly safe they will be in
no hurry. Jones's energy will be of use to us there, for his
view of the case is sure to push itself into the daily press,
and the runaways will think that every one is off on the
wrong scent."
“What are we to do then?" I asked, as we landed near
Millbank Penitentiary.
“Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and
get an hour's sleep. It is quite on the cards that we may
be afoot to-night again. Stop at a telegraph office, cabby.
We will keep Toby, for he may be of use to us yet."
We pulled up at the Great Peter Street Post-office, and
Holmes despatched his wire. “Whom do you think that is
to?” he asked, as we resumed our journey.
"I am sure I don't know."
"You remember the Baker Street division of the detec-
tive police force whom I employed in the Jefferson Hope
case?”
“Well,” said I, laughing.
“This is just the case where they might be invaluable.
If they fail, I have other resources; but I shall try them
first. That wire was to my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins,
and I expect that he and his gang will be with us before we
have finished our breakfast."
It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was
conscious of a strong reaction after the successive excite-
ments of the night. I was limp and weary, befogged in mind
and fatigued in body. I had not the professional enthu-
siasm which carried my companion on, nor could I look
at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As
far as the death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard
little good of him, and could feel no intense antipathy to his
murderer. The treasure, however, was a different matter.
That, or part of it, belonged rightfully to Miss Morstan.
While there was a chance of recovering it, I was ready to
devote my life to the one object. True, if I found it, it
would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it
would be a petty and selfish love which would be influenced
by such a thought as that. If Holmes could work to find
would probably mother one or more
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
the criminals, I had a tenfold stronger reason to urge me
on to find the treasure.
A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened
me up wonderfully. When I came down to our room I
found the breakfast laid and Holmes pouring out the coffee.
"Here it is,” said he, laughing, and pointing to an open
newspaper. “The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous re-
porter have fixed it up between them. But you have had
enough of the case. Better have your ham and eggs first."
I took the paper from him and read the short notice,
which was headed “Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood."
“About twelve o'clock last night,” said the “Standard,”
“Mr. Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper
Norwood, was found dead in his room under circumstances
which point to foul play. As far as we can learn, no traces
of violence were found upon Mr. Sholto's person, but a
valuable collection of Indian gems, which the deceased gen-
tleman had inherited from his father, has been carried off.
The discovery was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and
Dr. Watson, who had called at the house with Mr. Thad-
deus Sholto, brother of the deceased. By a singular piece
of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known mem-
ber of the detective police force, happened to be at the
Norwood Police Station, and was on the ground within half
an hour of the first alarm. His trained and experienced
faculties were at once directed toward the detection of the
criminals, with the gratifying result that the brother, Thad-
deus Sholto, has already been arrested, together with the
housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal
Rao, and a porter, or gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is
quite certain that the thief or thieves were well acquainted
with the house, for Mr. Jones's well-known technical knowl-
edge and his powers of minute observation have enabled
him to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not have
entered by the door or by the window, but must have made
their way across the roof of the building, and so through a
trap-door into a room which communicated with that in
which the body was found. This fact, which has been very
clearly made out, proves conclusively that it was no mere
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
haphazard burglary. The prompt and energetic action of
the officers of the law shows the great advantage of the
presence on such occasions of a single vigorous and master-
ful mind. We can not but think that it supplies an argu-
ment to those who would wish to see our detectives more
decentralized, and so brought into closer and more effective
touch with the cases which it is their duty to investigate."
“Isn't it gorgeous !” said Holmes, grinning over his cof-
fee-cup. "What do you think of it?"
"I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being
arrested for the crime.”
"So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety now, if he
should happen to have another of his attacks of energy."
At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I
could hear Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in
a wail of expostulation and dismay.
“By heaven, Holmes,” I said, half-rising, “I believe they
are really after us.”
“No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial
force—the Baker Street irregulars."
As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet
upon the stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a
dozen dirty and ragged little street Arabs. There was some
show of discipline among them, despite their tumultuous
entry, for they instantly drew up in line and stood facing
us with expectant faces. One of their number, taller and
older than the others, stood forward with an air of lounging
superiority which was very funny in such a disreputable lit-
tle scarecrow.
"Got your message, sir," said he, "and brought 'em in
sharp. Three bob and a tanner for tickets."
"Here you are," said Holmes, producing some silver,
“In future they can report to you, Wiggins, and you to me.
I can not have the house invaded in this way. However,
it is just as well that you should all hear the instructions.
I want to find the whereabout of a steam launch called the
'Aurora,' owner, Mordecai Smith, black with two red streaks,
funnel black with a white band. She is down the river
somewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordecai Smith's
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
landing-stage, opposite Millbank, to say if the boat comes
back. You must divide it out among yourselves, and do
both banks thoroughly. Let me know the moment you have
the news. Is that all clear?"
“Yes, guv'nor,” said Wiggins.
“The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds
the boat. Here's a day in advance. Now off you go!"
He handed them a shilling each, and away they buzzed
down the stairs, and I saw them a moment later streaming
down the street.
"If the launch is above water they will find her," said
Holmes, as he rose from the table and lighted his pipe.
“They can go everywhere, see everything, overhear every
one. I expect to hear before evening that they have spotted
her. In the meanwhile, we can do nothing but await results.
We can not pick up the broken trail until we find either the
'Aurora' or Mr. Mordecai Smith.”
"Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going
to bed, Holmes?”
"No; I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I
never remember feeling tired by work, though idleness ex-
hausts me completely. I am going to smoke, and to think
over this queer business to which my fair client has intro-
duced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of ours ought
to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the
other man must, I should think, be absolutely unique.”
"That other man again!"
"I have no wish to make a mystery of him—to you, any-
way. But you must have formed your own opinion. Now,
do consider the data. Diminutive foot-marks, toes never
fettered by boots, naked feet, stone-headed wooden mace,
great agility, small, poisoned darts. What do you make of
all this?"
“A savage!” I exclaimed. "Perhaps one of those Indians
who were the associates of Jonathan Small.”
"Hardly that,” said he. “When first I saw signs of
strange weapons I was inclined to think so, but the re-
markable character of the foot-marks caused me to recon-
sider my views. Some of the inhabitants of the Indian
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
Peninsula are small men, but none could have left such
marks as that. The Hindoo proper has long and thin feet.
The sandal-wearing Mohammedan has the great toe well
separated from the others, because the thong is commonly
passed between. These little darts, too, could only be shot
in one way. They were from a blow-pipe. Now, then,
where are we to find our savage?".
“South America," I hazarded.
He stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume
from the shelf. “This is the first volume of a gazeteer which
is now being published. It may be looked upon as the very
latest authority. What have we here? 'Andaman Islands,
situated three hundred and forty miles to the north of Su.
matra in the Bay of Bengal.' Hum! hum! What's all this?
‘Moist climate, coral reefs. sharks, Port Blair, convict-bar-
racks, Rutland Island, cottonwoods- Ah, here we are. "The
aborignes of the Andaman Islands may perhaps claim the
distinction of being the smallest race upon this earth, though
some anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the Dig-
ger Indians of America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The
average height is rather below four feet, although many
full-grown adults may be found who are very much smaller
than this. They are a fierce, morose, and intractable people,
though capable of forming most devoted friendships when
their confidence has once been gained.' Mark that, Watson.
Now, then, listen to this: 'They are naturally hideous, hav-
ing large misshapen heads, small fierce eyes, and distorted
features. Their feet and hands, however, are remarkably
small. So intractable and fierce are they that all the efforts
of the British officials have failed to win them over in any
degree. They have always been a terror to shipwrecked
crews, braining the survivors with their stone-headed clubs,
or shooting them with their poisoned arrows. These massa-
cres are invariably concluded by a cannibal feast.' Nice, ami-
able people, Watson! If this fellow had been left to his own
unaided devices this affair might have taken an even more
ghastly turn. I fancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small
would give a good deal not to have employed him.”
“But how came he to have so singular a companion?”
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
“Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we
had already determined that Small had come from the
Andamans, it is not so very wonderful that this islander
should be with him. No doubt we shall know all about it
in time. Look here, Watson, you look regularly done.
Lie down there on the sofa, and see if I can put you to
sleep.”
He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched
myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious
air-his own, no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for
improvization. I have a vague remembrance of his gaunt
limbs, his earnest face, and the rise and fall of his bow. Then
I seemed to be floating peacefully away upon a soft sea of
sound, until I found myself in dreamland, with the sweet
face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me.
CHAPTER IX
A Break in the Chain
It was late in the afternoon before I awoke, strength-
ened and refreshed. Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly
as I had left him, save that he had laid aside his violin
and was deep in a book. He looked across at me as I
stirred, and I noticed that his face was dark and troubled.
“You have slept soundly," he said. “I feared that our
talk would wake you."
“I heard nothing," I answered. "Have you had fresh
news, then?"
“Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised and
disappointed. I expected something definite by this time.
Wiggins has just been up to report. He says that no trace
can be found of the launch. It is a provoking check, for
every hour is of importance.”
"Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and
quite ready for another night's outing."
"No; we can do nothing. We can only wait. If we go
ourselves, the message might come in our absence, and delay
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
be caused. You can do what you will, but I must remain
on guard."
“Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call upon
Mrs. Cecil Forrester. She asked me to yesterday.”
“On Mrs. Cecil Forrester?" asked Holmes, with the
twinkle of a smile in his eyes.
“Well, of course, on Miss Morstan, too. They were anx-
ious to hear what happened.”
“I would not tell them too much," said Holmes. "Women
are never to be entirely trusted not the best of them.”
I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment.
"I shall be back in an hour or two," I remarked.
"All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you are crossing
the river you may as well return Toby, for I don't think it
at all likely that we shall have any use for him now."
I took our mongrel accordingly, and left him, together
with a half sovereign, at the old naturalist's in Pinchin Lane.
At Camberwell I found Miss Morstan a little weary after her
night's adventures, but very eager to hear the news. Mrs.
Forrester, too, was full of curiosity. I told them all that we
had done, suppressing, however, the more dreadful parts of
the tragedy. Thus, although I spoke of Mr. Sholto's death,
I said nothing of the exact manner and method of it. With
all my omissions, however, there was enough to startle and
amaze them.
"It is a romance!" cried Mrs. Forrester. “An injured
lady, half a million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a
wooden-legged ruffian. They take the place of the con-
ventional dragon or wicked earl.”
"And two knights errant to the rescue,” added Miss Mor-
stan, with a bright glance at me.
"Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this
search. I don't think that you are nearly excited enough.
Just imagine what it must be to be so rich and to have the
world at your feet.”
It sent a thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she
showed no sign of elation at the prospect. On the contrary,
she gave a toss of her proud head, as though the matter were
one in which she took small interest.
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
"It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious," she
said. "Nothing else is of any consequence; but I think that
he has behaved most kindly and honorably throughout. It
is our duty to clear him of this dreadful and unfounded
charge.”
It was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite dark
by the time I reached home. My companion's book and
pipe lay by his chair, but he had disappeared. I looked
about in the hope of seeing a note, but there was none.
"I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out,” I
said to Mrs. Hudson, as she came up to lower the blinds.
"No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you know,
sir,” sinking her voice into an impressive whisper, "I am
afraid for his health!”
“Why so. Mrs. Hudson?”.
"Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was gone he
walked, and he walked, up and down, and up and down, until
I was weary of the sound of his footstep. Then I heard
him talking to himself, and muttering, and every time the
bell rang out he came on the stairhead, with, 'What is that,
Mrs. Hudson?' And now he has slammed off to his room,
but I can hear him walking away the same as ever. I hope
he's not going to be ill, sir. I ventured to say something to
him about cooling medicine, but he turned on me, sir, with
such a look that I don't know how I ever got out of the
room."
“I don't think that you have any cause to be uneasy,
Mrs. Hudson,” I answered. “I have seen him like this be-
fore. He has some small matter upon his mind which makes
him restless." I tried to speak lightly to our worthy land-
lady, but I was myself somewhat uneasy when through the
long night I still, from time to time, heard the dull sound of
his tread, and knew how his keen spirit was chafing against
this involuntary inaction.
At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a
little fleck of feverish color upon either cheek.
“You are knocking yourself up, old man," I remarked.
“I heard you marching about in the night.”
"No, I could not sleep," he answered. “This infernal
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
problem is consuming me. It is too much to be balked by
so petty an obstacle, when all else had been overcome. I
know the men, the launch, everything; and yet I can get no
news. I have set other agencies at work, and used every
means at my disposal. The whole river has been searched
on either side, but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smith heard
of her husband. I shall come to the conclusion soon that
they have scuttled the craft. But there are objections to
that.”
"Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong scent."
“No, I think that may be dismissed. I had inquiries
made, and there is a launch of that description."
“Could it have gone up the river?”
"I have considered that possibility, too, and there is a
search party who will work up as far as Richmond. If no
news comes to-day, I shall start off myself to-morrow, and
go for the men rather than the boat. But surely, surely,
we shall hear something."
We did not, however. Not a word came to us, either
from Wiggins or from the other agencies. There were
articles in most of the papers upon the Norwood tragedy.
They all appeared to be rather hostile to the unfortunate
Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details were to be found, how-
ever, in any of them, save that an inquest was to be held
upon the following day. I walked over to Camberwell in
the evening to report our ill success to the ladies, and on my
return I found Holmes dejected and somewhat morose. He
would hardly reply to my questions, and busied himself all
evening in an abstruse chemical analysis which involved
much heating of retorts and distilling of vapors, ending at
last in a smell which fairly drove me out of the apartment.
Up to the small hours of the morning I could hear the
clinking of his test-tubes, which told me that he was still
engaged in his malodorous experiment.
In the early dawn I woke with a start, and was surprised
to find him standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor
dress, with a pea-jacket, and a coarse red scarf round his
neck.
"I am off down the river, Watson,” said he. “I have been
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
turning it over in my mind, and I can see only one way out
of it. It is worth trying, at all events."
"Surely I can come with you, then?” said I.
“No, you can be much more useful if you will remain here
as my representative. I am loth to go, for it is quite on the
cards that some message may come during the day, though
Wiggins was despondent about it last night. I want you
to open all notes and telegrams, and act on your own judg.
ment if any news should come. Can I rely upon you?”
"Most certainly."
"I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me,
for I can hardly tell yet where I may find myself. If I am
in luck, however, I may not be gone so very long. I shall
have news of some sort or other before I get back.”
I heard nothing of him by breakfast-time. On opening
the “Standard,” however, I found that there was a fresh
allusion to the business. “With reference to the Upper
Norwood tragedy," it remarked, "we have reason to believe
that the matter promises to be even more complex and
mysterious than was originally supposed. Fresh evidence has
shown that it is quite impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto
could have been in any way concerned in the matter. He
and the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, were both released
yesterday evening. It is believed, however, that the police
have a clue to the real culprits, and that it is being prose-
cuted by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with all his
well-known energy and sagacity. Further arrests may be
expected at any moment."
“That is satisfactory so far as it goes," thought I.
"Friend Sholto is safe, at any rate. I wonder what the fresh
clue may be; though it seems to be a stereotyped form when-
ever the police have made a blunder.”
I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that mo-
ment my eye caught an advertisement in the agony column.
It ran in this way:
"Lost.-Whereas, Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son
Jim, left Smith's Wharf at or about three o'clock last Tues-
day morning, in the steam launch 'Aurora,' black with two
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
red stripes; funnel black with a white band; the sum of five
pounds will be paid to any one who can give information to
Mrs. Smith, at Smith's Wharf, or at 222B Baker Street, as
to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith and the
launch 'Aurora.'”
This was clearly Holmes's doing. The Baker Street ad-
dress was enough to prove that. It struck me as rather in-
genious, because it might be read by the fugitives without
their seeing in it more than the natural anxiety of a wife
for her missing husband.
It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the
door, or a sharp step passed in the street, I imagined that
it was either Holmes returning or an answer to his adver-
tisement. I tried to read, but my thoughts would wander
off to our strange quest and to the ill-assorted and villainous
pair whom we were pursuing. Could there be, I wondered,
some radical flaw in my companion's reasoning? Might he
be suffering from some huge self-deception? Was it not
possible that his nimble and speculative mind had built up
this wild theory upon faulty premises? I had never known
him to be wrong; and yet the keenest reasoner may occa-
sionally be deceived. He was likely, I thought, to fall into
error through the overrefinement of his logic-his pref-
erence for a subtle and bizarre explanation when a plainer
and more commonplace one lay ready to his hand. Yet, on
the other hand, I had myself seen the evidence, and I had
heard the reasons for his deductions. When I looked back
on the long chain of curious circumstances, many of them
trivial in themselves, but all tending in the same direction,
I could not disguise from myself that even if Holmes's ex-
planation were incorrect the true theory must be equally
outré and startling.
At three o'clock in the afternoon there was a loud peal at
the bell, an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my sur-
prise, no less a person than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown
up to me. Very different was he, however, from the brusque
and masterful professor of common-sense who had taken
over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His expres-
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
sion was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apolo-
getic.
“Good-day, sir; good-day," said he. "Mr. Sherlock
Holmes is out, I understand.”
“Yes; and I can not be sure when he will be back. But
perhaps you would care to wait. Take that chair and try
one of these cigars."
"Thank you; I don't mind if I do," said he, mopping his
face with a red bandana handkerchief.
"And a whisky and soda?”
“Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year
and I have a good deal to worry and try me. You know my
theory about this Norwood case?"
“I remember that you expressed one.”
"Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my
net drawn tightly round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop! he went
through a hole in the middle of it. He was able to prove an
alibi which could not be shaken. From the time that he left
his brother's room he was never out of sight of some one or
other. So it could not be he who climbed over the roofs
and through trap-doors. It's a very dark case and my pro-
fessional credit is at stake. I should be very glad of a little
assistance."
“We all need help sometimes,” said I.
“Your friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, is a wonderful man,
sir," said he, in a husky and confidential voice. "He's a man
who is not to be beat. I have known that young man go
into a good many cases, but I never saw the case yet that
he could not throw light upon. He is irregular in his meth-
ods, and a little quick, perhaps, in jumping at theories, but,
on the whole, I think he would have made a most promising
officer, and I don't care who knows it. I have had a wire
from him this morning, by which I understand that he has
got some clue to this Sholto business. Here is his message.”
He took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to
me. It was dated from Poplar at twelve o'clock. “Go to
Baker Street at once,” it said. "If I have not returned, wait
for me. I am close on the track of the Sholto gang. You
can come with us to-night if you want to be in at the finish."
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent
again,” said I.
"Ah, then he has been at fault, too,” exclaimed Jones, with
evident satisfaction. “Even the best of us are thrown off
sometimes. Of course this may prove to be a false alarm;
but it is my duty as an officer of the law to allow no
chance to slip. But there is some one at the door. Perhaps
this is he.”
A heavy step was heard ascending the stairs, with a great
wheezing and rattling as from a man who was sorely put to
it for breath. Once or twice he stopped, as though the climb
were too much for him, but at last he made his way to our
door and entered. His appearance corresponded to the
sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man, clad in
seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his
throat. His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his
breathing was painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon a
thick oaken cudgel his shoulders heaved in the effort to draw
the air into his lungs. He had a colored scarf round his
chin, and I could see little of his face save a pair of keen
dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows, and long gray
side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a
respectable master mariner who had fallen into years and
poverty.
"What is it, my man?" I asked.
He looked about him in the slow, methodical fashion of
old age.
“Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?” said he.
"No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any
message you have for him."
“It was to him himself I was to tell it,” said he.
“But I tell you that I am acting for him. Was it about
Mordecai Smith's boat?”
“Yes. I knows well where it is. An' I knows where the
men he is after are. An' I knows where the treasure is. I
knows all about it."
“Then tell me, and I shall let him know."
"It was to him I was to tell it,” he repeated, with the
petulant obstinacy of a very old man.
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
"Well, you must wait for him."
“No, no; I ain't goin' to lose a whole day to please no
one. If Mr. Holmes ain't here, then Mr. Holmes must find
it all out for himself. I don't care about the look of either
of you, and I won't tell a word.”
He shuffled toward the door, but Athelney Jones got in
front of him.
"Wait a bit, my friend,” said he. “You have important
information, and you must not walk off. We shall keep
you, whether you like it or not, until our friend returns."
The old man made a little run toward the door, but, as
Athelney Jones put his broad back up against it, he recog-
nized the uselessness of resistance.
“Pretty sort o' treatment this!” he cried, stamping his
stick. “I come here to see a gentleman, and you two, who I
never saw in my life, seize me and treat me in this fashion!"
“You will be none the worse," I said. “We shall recom-
pense you for the loss of your time. Sit over here on the
sofa, and you will not have long to wait.”
He came across sullenly enough, and seated himself with
his face resting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars
and our talk. Suddenly, however, Holmes's voice broke in
upon us.
"I think that you might offer me a cigar, too,” he said.
We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sit-
ting close to us with an air of quiet amusement.
"Holmes!” I exclaimed. “You here? But where is the
old man?"
"Here is the old man,” said he, holding out a heap of
white hair. “Here he is—wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all.
I thought my disguise was pretty good, but I hardly ex-
pected that it would stand that test.”
“Ah, you rogue!” cried Jones, highly delighted. “You
would have made an actor, and a rare one. You had the
proper workhouse cough, and those weak legs of yours are
worth ten pounds a week. I thought I knew the glint of
your eye, though. You didn't get away from us so easily,
you see.”
"I have been working in that get-up all day," said he,
Vol. I
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
proof yet of the existence of this Jonathan Small. However,
if you can catch him I don't see how I can refuse you an in-
terview with him.”
“That is understood, then ?"
"Perfectly. Is there anything else?”
"Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It will be
ready in half an hour. I have oysters and a brace of grouse,
with something a little choice in white wine. Watson, you
have never yet recognized my merits as a housekeeper.”
CHAPTER X
The End of the Islander
Our meal was a merry one. Holmes could talk exceed-
ingly well when he chose, and that night he did choose.
He appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have
never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succes-
sion of subjects-on miracle-plays, on medieval pottery, on
Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the
warships of the future-handling each as though he had
made a special study of it. His bright humor marked the
reaction from his black depression of the preceding days.
Athelney Jones proved to be a sociable soul in his hours
of relaxation, and faced his dinner with the air of a bon
vivant. For myself, I felt elated at the thought that we were
nearing the end of our task, and I caught something of
Holmes's gaiety. None of us alluded during the dinner to
the cause which had brought us together.
When the cloth was cleared, Holmes glanced at his watch,
and filled up three glasses with port. "One bumper,” said
he, “to the success of our little expedition. And now it is
high time we were off. Have you a pistol, Watson?”
"I have my old service-revolver in my desk.”
"You had best take it, then. It is well to be prepared.
I see that the cab is at the door. I ordered it for half-
past six.”
It was a little past seven before we reached the West-
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
the role the most
minster wharf, and found our launch awaiting us. Holmes
eyed it critically.
"Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?”
“Yes-that green lamp at the side.”
“Then take it off.”
The small change was made; we stepped on board, and
the ropes were cast off. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the
stern. There was one man at the rudder, one to tend the
engines, and two burly police-inspectors forward.
“Where to?" asked Jones.
“To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite to Jacob-
son's Yard."
Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past
the long lines of loaded barges as though they were sta-
tionary. Holmes smiled with satisfaction as we overhauled
a river steamer and left her behind us.
"We ought to be able to catch anything on the river,"
he said.
“Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to
beat us.”
"We shall have to catch the 'Aurora,' and she has a name
for being a clipper. I will tell you how the land lies, Wat-
son. You recollect how annoyed I was at being balked by
so small a thing?"
“Yes.”
"Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into
a chemical analysis. One of our greatest statesmen has said
that a change of work is the best rest. So it is. When I
had succeeded in dissolving the hydrocarbon which I was
at work at, I came back to our problem of the Sholtos, and
thought the whole matter out again. My boys had been up
the river and down the river without result. The launch was
not at any landing-stage or wharf, nor had it returned. Yet
it could hardly have been scuttled to hide their traces-
though that always remained as a possible hypothesis if all
else failed. I knew that this man Small had a certain degree
of low cunning, but I did not think him capable of anything
in the nature of delicate finesse. That is usually a product
of higher education. I then reflected that since he had cer-
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
tainly been in London some time—as we had evidence that
he maintained a continual watch over Pondicherry Lodge
- he could hardly leave at a moments notice, but would
need some little time, if it were only a day, to arrange his
affairs. That was the balance of probability, at any rate."
"It seemed to me to be a little weak,” said I. "It is more
probable that he had arranged his affairs before ever he set
out upon his expedition."
“No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be too
valuable a retreat in case of need for him to give it up until
he was sure that he could do without it. But a second con-
sideration struck me: Jonathan Small must have felt that
the peculiar appearance of his companion, however much he
may have top-coated him, would give rise to gossip, and pos-
sibly be associated with this Norwood tragedy. He was
quite sharp enough to see that. They had started from their
headquarters under cover of darkness, and he would wish to
get back before it was broad light. Now it was past three
o'clock, according to Mrs. Smith, when they got the boat.
It would be quite bright, and people would be about in an
hour or so. Therefore, I argued, they did not go very far.
They paid Smith well to hold his tongue, reserved his
launch for the final escape, and hurried to their lodgings
with the treasure-box. In a couple of nights, when they
had time to see what view the papers took, and whether
there was any suspicion, they would make their way under
the cover of darkness to some ship at Gravesend or in the
Downs, where no doubt they had already arranged for pas-
sages to America or the Colonies."
"But the launch? They could not have taken that to
their lodgings."
“Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great
way off, in spite of its invisibility. I then put myself in the
place of Small, and looked at it as a man of his capacity
would. He would probably consider that to send back the
launch or to keep it at a wharf would make pursuit easy if
the police did happen to get on his track. How, then, could
he conceal the launch and yet have her at hand when wanted?
I wondered what I should do myself if I were in his shoes.
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
I could only think of one way of doing it. I might hand the
launch over to some boat-builder or repairer, with the direc-
tions to make a trifling change in her. She would then be
removed to his shed or yard, and so be effectually concealed,
while at the same time I could have her at a few hours'
notice.”
"That seems simple enough."
"It is just these very simple things which are extremely
liable to be overlooked. However, I determined to act on
the idea. I started at once in this harmless seaman's rig
and inquired at all the yards down the river. I drew blank
at fifteen, but at the sixteenth-Jacobson's—I learned that
the 'Aurora' had been handed over to them two days ago by
a wooden-legged man, with some trivial directions as to her
rudder. There ain't naught amiss with her rudder,' said
the foreman. 'There she lies, with the red streaks. At that
moment who should come down but Mordecai Smith, the
missing owner. He was rather the worse for liquor. I
should not, of course, have known him, but he bellowed out
his name and the name of his launch. 'I want her to-night
at eight o'clock,' said he-'eight o'clock sharp, mind, for I
have two gentlemen who won't be kept waiting. They had
evidently paid him well, for he was very flush of money,
chucking shillings about to the men. I followed him some
distance, but he subsided into an alehouse; so I went back
into the yard, and, happening to pick up one of my boys on
the way, I stationed him as a sentry over the launch. He is
to stand at the water's edge and wave his handkerchief to us
when they start. We shall be lying off in the stream, and
it will be a strange thing if we do not take men, treasure,
and all."
"You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are
the right men or not,” said Jones; "but if the affair were in
my hands, I should have had a body of police in Jacobson's
Yard, and arrested them when they came down.”
“Which would have been never. This man Small is a
pretty shrewd fellow. He would send a scout on ahead, and
if anything made him suspicious, he would lie snug for an.
other week.”
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
“But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so
been led to their hiding-place," said I.
“In that case I should have wasted my day. I think that
it is a hundred to one against Smith knowing where they
live. As long as he has liquor and good pay, why should he
ask questions? They send him messages what to do. No,
I thought over every possible course, and this is the best."
While this conversation had been proceeding, we had been
shooting the long series of bridges which span the Thames.
As we passed the city the last rays of the sun were gilding
the cross upon the summit of St. Paul's. It was twilight
before we reached the Tower.
"That is Jacobson's Yard,” said Holmes, pointing to a
bristle of masts and rigging on the Surrey side. “Cruise
gently up and down here under cover of this string of
lighters.” He took a pair of night-glasses from his pocket
and gazed some time at the shore. "I see my sentry at his
post," he remarked, “but no sign of a handkerchief."
"Suppose we go down-stream a short way and lie in wait
for them,” said Jones, eagerly. We were all eager by this
time, even the policeman and stokers, who had a very vague
idea of what was going forward.
"We have no right to take anything for granted,” Holmes
answered. “It is certainly ten to one that they go down-
stream, but we can not be certain. From this point we can
see the entrance to the yard, and they can hardly see us.
It will be a clear night and plenty of light. We must stay
where we are. See how the folk swarm over yonder in the
gas-light."
“They are coming from work in the yard.”
"Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every one has some
little immortal spark concealed about him. You would not
think it, to look at them. There is no a priori probability
about it. A strange enigma is man!”
"Some one calls him a soul concealed in an animal,” I
suggested.
"Winwood Reade is good upon the subject,” said Holmes.
“He remarks that, while the individual man is an insoluble
puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a mathematical cer-
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
tainty. You can, for example, never foretell what any one
man will do, but you can say with precision what an average
number will be up to. Individuals vary, but percentages re-
main constant. So says the statistician. But do I see a
handkerchief? Surely there is a white flutter over yonder."
“Yes; it is your boy," I cried. “I can see him plainly."
“And there is the 'Aurora,' » exclaimed Holmes, “and
going like the devil! Full speed ahead, engineer. Make
after that launch with the yellow light. By heaven, I shall
never forgive myself if she proves to have the heels of us!"
She had slipped unseen through the yard entrance, and
passed behind two or three small craft, so that she had fairly
got her speed up before we saw her. Now she was flying
down the stream, near in to the shore, going at a tremen-
dous rate. Jones looked gravely at her and shook his
head.
"She is very fast,” he said. “I doubt if we shall catch
her.”
“We must catch her!" cried Holmes, between his teeth.
"Heap it on, stokers! Make her do all she can! If we burn
the boat we must have them!"
We were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and
the powerful engines whizzed and clanked like a great metal-
lic heart. Her sharp, steep prow cut through the still river
water, and sent two rolling waves to right and to left of us.
With every throb of the engines she sprung and quivered
like a living thing. One great yellow lantern in our bows
threw a long, flickering funnel of light in front of us. Right
ahead a dark blur upon the water showed where the “Aurora"
lay, and the swirl of white foam behind her spoke of the
pace at which she was going. We flashed past barges,
steamers, merchant vessels, in and out, behind this one and
round the other. Voices hailed us out of the darkness, but
still the "Aurora" thundered on, and still we followed close
upon her track.
“Pile it on, men; pile it on!” cried Holmes, looking down
into the engine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat
upon his eager, aquiline face. “Get every pound of steam
you can,"
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
"I think we gain a little,” said Jones, with his eyes on
the "Aurora.”
“I am sure of it,” said I. "We shall be up with her in
a very few minutes."
At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it,
a tug with three barges in tow blundered in between us.
It was only by putting our helm hard down that we avoided
a collision, and before we could round them and recover our
way the "Aurora" had gained a good two hundred yards.
She was still, however, well in view, and the murky, un-
certain twilight was settling into a clear starlit night. Our
boilers were strained to their utmost, and the frail shell
vibrated and creaked with the fierce energy which was driv-
ing us along. We had shot through the Pool, past the West
India Docks, down the long Deptford Reach, and up again
after rounding the Isle of Dogs. The dull blur in front of
us resolved itself now clearly enough into the dainty “Au-
rora.” Jones turned our search-light upon her, so that we
could plainly see the figures upon her deck. One man sat
by the stern, with something black between his knees, over
which he stooped. Beside him lay a dark mass which looked
like a Newfoundland dog. The boy held the tiller, while
against the red glare of the furnace I could see old Smith,
stripped to the waist, and shoveling coal for dear life. They
may have had some doubt at first as to whether we were
really pursuing them, but now, as we followed every winding
and turning which they took, there could no longer be any
question about it. At Greenwich we were about three hun-
dred paces behind them. At Blackwall we could not have
been more than two hundred and fifty. I have coursed many
creatures in many countries during my checkered career,
but never did sport give me such a wild thrill as this mad,
flying man-hunt down the Thames. Steadily we drew in
upon them yard by yard. In the silence of the night we
could hear the panting and clanking of their machinery.
The man in the stern still crouched upon the deck, and his
arms were moving as though he were busy, while every now
and then he would look up and measure with a glance the
distance which still separated us. Nearer we came and
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
nearer. Jones yelled to them to stop. We were not more
than four boats' lengths behind them, both boats flying at a
tremendous pace. It was a clear reach of the river, with
Barking Level upon one side and the melancholy Plumstead
Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man in the stern
sprung up from the deck and shook his two clinched fists
at us, cursing the while in a high, cracked voice. He was
a good-sized, powerful man, and, as he stood poising him-
self with legs astride, I could see that from the thigh down-
ward there was but a wooden stump upon the right side. At
the sound of his strident, angry cries there was a movement
in the huddled bundle upon the deck. It straightened itself
into a little black man-the smallest I have ever seen-with
a great, misshapen head and a shock of tangled, disheveled
hair. Holmes had already drawn his revolver, and I whipped
out mine at the sight of this savage, distorted creature. He
was wrapped in some sort of dark ulster or blanket, which
left only his face exposed; but that face was enough to give
a man a sleepless night. Never have I seen features so
deeply marked with all bestiality and cruelty. His small
eyes glowed and burned with a sombre light, and his thick
lips were writhed back from his teeth, which grinned and
chattered at us with a half-animal fury.
"Fire if he raises his hand,” said Holmes, quietly. We
were within a boat's-length by this time, and almost within
touch of our quarry. I can see the two of them now as they
stood, the white man with his legs far apart, shrieking out
curses, and the unhallowed dwarf, with his hideous face,
and his strong, yellow teeth gnashing at us in the light of
our lantern.
It was well that we had so clear a view of him. Even
as we looked he plucked out from under his covering a short,
round piece of wood, like a school-ruler, and clapped it to
his lips. Our pistols rang out together. He whirled round,
threw up his arms, and with a kind of choking cough fell
sideways into the stream. I caught one glimpse of his veno-
mous, menacing eyes amid the white swirl of the waters. At
the same moment the wooden-legged man threw himself
upon the rudder and put it hard down, so that his boat made
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
imes and win hard, op earded chied from
inence not ve been shot thote
CHAPTER XI
The Great Agra Treasure
OUR captive sat in the cabin opposite the iron box
which he had done so much and waited so long to
gain. He was a sunburned, reckless-eyed fellow, with
a network of lines and wrinkles all over his mahogany
features, which told of a hard, open-air life. There
was a singular prominence about his bearded chin which
marked a man who was not to be easily turned from
his purpose. His age may have been fifty or thereabout,
for his black, curly hair was thickly shot with gray. His
face, in repose, was not an unpleasing one, though his heavy
brows and aggressive chin gave him, as I had lately seen,
a terrible expression when moved to anger. He sat now
with his handcuffed hands upon his lap, and his head sunk
upon his breast, while he looked with his keen, twinkling
eyes at the box which had been the cause of his ill-doings.
It seemed to me that there was more sorrow than anger in
his rigid and contained countenance. Once he looked up
at me with a gleam of something like humor in his eyes.
“Well, Jonathan Small,” said Holmes, lighting a cigar,
“I am sorry that it has come to this."
“And so am I, sir," he answered, frankly. “I don't be-
lieve that I can swing over the job. I give you my word
on the Book that I never raised hand against Mr. Sholto.
It was that little hell-hound, Tonga, who shot one of his
cursed darts into him. I had no part in it, sir. I was as
grieved as if it had been my blood relation. I welted the
little devil with the slack end of the rope for it, but it was
done, and I could not undo it again."
"Have a cigar," said Holmes; "and you had better take
a pull out of my flask, for you are very wet. How could you
expect so small and weak a man as this black fellow to over-
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
power Mr. Sholto and hold him while you were climbing
the rope?"
“You seem to know as much about it as if you were there,
sir. The truth is that I hoped to find the room clear. I
knew the habits of the house pretty well, and it was the
time when Mr. Sholto usually went down to his supper.
I shall make no secret of the business. The best defense
that I can make is just the simple truth. Now, if it had
been the old major, I would have swung for him with a
light heart. I would have thought no more of knifing him
than of smoking this cigar. But it's cursed hard that I
should be lagged over this young Sholto, with whom I had
no quarrel whatever."
"You are under the charge of Mr. Athelney Jones, of
Scotland Yard. He is going to bring you up to my rooms,
and I shall ask you for a true account of the matter. You
must make a clean breast of it, for if you do I hope that I
may be of use to you. I think I can prove that the poison
acts so quickly that the man was dead before you ever
reached the room."
“That he was, sir! I never got such a turn in my life as
when I saw him grinning at me with his head on his shoulder
as I climbed through the window. It fairly shook me, sir.
I'd have half-killed Tonga for it, if he had not scrambled off.
That was how he came to leave his club, and some of his
darts, too, as he tells me, which, I dare say, helped to put
you on our track; though how you kept on it is more than
I can tell. I don't feel no malice against you for it. But it
does seem a queer thing,” he added, with a bitter smile, “that
I, who have a fair claim to nigh upon half a million of
money, should spend the first half of my life building a
breakwater in the Andamans, and am likely to spend the
other half digging drains at Dartmoor. It was an evil day
for me when first I clapped eyes upon the merchant Achmet,
and had to do with the Agra treasure, which never brought
anything but a curse yet upon the man who owned it. To
him it brought murder; to Major Sholto it brought fear
and guilt; to me it has meant slavery for life.”
At this moment Athelney Jones thrust his broad face
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
and heavy shoulders into the tiny cabin. "Quite a family
party," he remarked. “I think I shall have a pull at that
flask, Holmes. Well, I think we may all congratulate each
other. Pity we didn't take the other alive; but there was
no choice. I say, Holmes, you must confess that you cut it
rather fine. It was all we could do to overhaul her.”
“All is well that ends well,” said Holmes. “But I cer-
tainly did not know that the 'Aurora' was such a clipper."
"Smith says she is one of the fastest launches on the
river, and that if he had had another man to help him with
the engines we should never have caught her. He swears
he knew nothing of this Norwood business."
"Neither he did,” cried our prisoner; "not a word. I
chose his launch, because I heard that she was a flyer. We
told him nothing, but we paid him well, and he was to get
something handsome if we reached our vessel, the 'Esme-
ralda,' at Gravesend, outward bound for the Brazils."
“Well, if he has done no wrong, we shall see that no
wrong comes to him. If we are pretty quick in catching
our men, we are not so quick in condemning them.” It was
amusing to notice how the consequential Jones was already
beginning to give himself airs on the strength of the capture.
From the slight smile which played over Sherlock Holmes's
face, I could see that the speech had not been lost upon
him.
“We will be at Vauxhall Bridge presently,” said Jones,
"and shall land you, Doctor Watson, with the treasure-box.
I need hardly tell you that I am taking a very grave respon-
sibility upon myself in doing this. It is most irregular; but,
of course, an agreement is an agreement. I must, however,
as a matter of duty, send an inspector with you, since you
have so valuable a charge. You will drive, no doubt?”
“Yes, I shall drive.”
“It is a pity there is no key, that we may make an inven-
tory first. You will have to break it open. Where is the
key, my man?”
"At the bottom of the river,” said Small, shortly.
“Hum! There was no use your giving this unnecessary
trouble. We have had work enough already through you.
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
However, doctor, I need not warn you to be careful. Bring
the box back with you to the Baker Street rooms. You will
find us there, on our way to the station."
They landed me at Vauxhall, with my heavy iron box,
and with a bluff, genial inspector as my companion. A
quarter of an hour's drive brought us to Mrs. Cecil Forres-
ter's. The servant seemed surprised at so late a visitor.
Mrs. Cecil Forrester was out for the evening, she explained,
and likely to be very late. Miss Morstan, however, was in
the drawing-room; so to the drawing-room I went, box in
hand, leaving the obliging inspector in the cab.
She was seated by the open window, dressed in some sort
of white, diaphanous material, with a little touch of scarlet
in the neck and waist. The soft light of a shaded lamp fell
upon her as she leaned back in the basket-chair, playing
over her sweet, grave face, and tinting with a dull, metallic
sparkle the rich coils of her luxuriant hair; one white arm
and hand drooped over the side of the chair, and her whole
pose and figure spoke of an absorbing melancholy. At the
sound of my footfall she sprang to her feet, however, and
a bright flush of surprise and of pleasure colored her pale
cheeks.
"I heard a cab drive up,” she said. “I thought that Mrs.
Forrester had come back very early, but I never dreamt that
it might be you. What news have you brought me?"
“I have brought something better than news,” said I,
putting down the box upon the table, and speaking jovially
and boisterously, though my heart was heavy within me.
“I have brought you something which is worth all the news
in the world. I have brought you a fortune."
She glanced at the iron box. “Is that the treasure, then?”
she asked, coolly enough.
“Yes, this is the great Agra treasure. Half of it is yours
and half is Thaddeus Sholto's. You will have a couple of
hundred thousand each. Think of that! An annuity of ten
thousand pounds. There will be few richer young ladies
in England. Is it not glorious?”
I think that I must have been rather overacting my de-
light, and that she detected a hollow ring in my congratula-
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tions, for I saw her eyebrows rise a little, and she glanced
at me curiously.
"If I have it,” said she, “I owe it to you."
"No, no," I answered; “not to me, but to my friend Sher-
lock Holmes. With all the will in the world, I could never
have followed up a clue which has taxed even his analytical
genius. As it was, we very nearly lost it at the last moment."
"Pray sit down and tell me all about it, Doctor Watson,"
said she.
I narrated briefly what had occurred since I had seen her
last-Holmes's new method of search, the discovery of the
“Aurora,” the appearance of Athelney Jones, our expedition
in the evening, and the wild chase down the Thames. She
listened, with parted lips and shining eyes, to my recital of
our adventures. When I spoke of the dart which had so
narrowly missed us, she turned so white that I feared she
was about to faint.
"It is nothing,” she said, as I hastened to pour her out
some water. “I am all right again. It was a shock to me to
hear that I had placed my friends in such horrible peril.”
“That is all over," I answered. "It was nothing. I will
tell you no more gloomy details. Let us turn to something
brighter. There is the treasure. What could be brighter
than that? I got leave to bring it with me, thinking that it
would interest you to be the first to see it.”
"It would be of the greatest interest to me," she said.
There was no eagerness in her voice, however. It struck
her, doubtless, that it might seem ungracious upon her part
to be indifferent to a prize which had cost so much to win.
"What a pretty box!” she said, stooping over it. “This is
Indian work, I suppose?”
“Yes; it is Benares metal-work."
"And so heavy!" she exclaimed, trying to raise it. “The
box alone must be of some value. Where is the key?"
"Small threw it into the Thames," I answered. “I must
borrow Mrs. Forrester's poker.” There was, in the front,
a thick and broad hasp, wrought in the image of a sitting,
Buddha. Under this I thrust the end of the poker and
twisted it outward as a lever. The hasp sprang open with a
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
loud snap. With trembling fingers I flung back the lid. We
both stood gazing in astonishment. The box was empty!
No wonder that it was heavy. The iron-work was two-
thirds of an inch thick all round. It was massive, well made,
and solid, like a chest constructed to carry things of great
price, but not one shred or crumb of metal or jewelry lay
within it. It was absolutely and completely empty.
“The treasure is lost," said Miss Morstan, calmly.
As I listened to the words and realized what they meant,
a great shadow seemed to pass from my soul. I did not
know how this Agra treasure had weighed me down until
now that it was finally removed. It was selfish, no doubt,
disloyal, wrong, but I could realize nothing save that the
golden barrier was gone from between us.
"Thank God!" I ejaculated from my very heart.
She looked at me with a quick, questioning smile. "Why
do you say that?" she asked.
"Because you are within my reach again," I said, taking
her hand. She did not withdraw it. "Because I love you,
Mary, as truly as ever a man loved a woman. Because this
treasure, these riches, sealed my lips. Now that they are
gone, I can tell you how I love you. That is why I said,
Thank God.'”
“Then I say, 'Thank God,' too,” she whispered, as I
drew her to my side. Whoever had lost a treasure, I knew
that night that I had gained one.
CHAPTER XII
The Strange Story of Jonathan Small
A VERY patient man was the inspector in the cab,
for it was a weary time before I rejoined him. His face
clouded over when I showed him the empty box.
“There goes the reward!” said he, gloomily. “Where
there is no money there is no pay. This night's work would
have been worth a tenner each to Sam Brown and me, if
the treasure had been there."
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“Mr. Thaddeus Sholto is a rich man," I said. "He will
see that you are rewarded, treasure or no treasure.”
The inspector shook his head despondently, however.
“It's a bad job,” he repeated; "and so Mr. Athelney Jones
will think."
His forecast proved to be correct, for the detective looked
blank enough when I got to Baker Street and showed him
the empty box. They had only just arrived, Holmes, the
prisoner, and he, for they had changed their plans so far as
to report themselves at a station upon the way. My com-
panion lounged in his armchair with his usual listless ex-
pression, while Small sat stolidly opposite to him with his
wooden leg cocked over his sound one. As I exhibited the
empty box he leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud.
“This is your doing, Small,” said Athelney Jones, angrily.
“Yes, I have put it away where you shall never lay hand
upon it,” he cried, exultantly. “It is my treasure; and if I
can't have the loot I'll take darned good care that no one
else does. I tell you that no living man has any right to it,
unless it is three men who are in the Andaman convict-bar-
racks and myself. I know now that I can not have the use
of it, and I know that they can not. I have acted all through
for them as much as for myself. It's been the sign of four
with us always. Well I know that they would have had me
do just what I have done, and throw the treasure into the
Thames rather than let it go to kith or kin of Sholto or of
Morstan. It was not to make them rich that we did for
Achmet. You'll find the treasure where the key is, and
where little Tonga is. When I saw that your launch must
catch us, I put the loot in a safe place. There are no rupees
for you this journey."
“You are deceiving us, Small,” said Athelney Jones,
sternly. "If you had wished to throw the treasure into the
Thames, it would have been easier for you to have thrown
box and all."
"Easier for me to throw, and easier for you to recover,"
he answered, with a shrewd, sidelong look. “The man that
was clever enough to hunt me down is clever enough to pick
an iron box from the bottom of a river. Now that they are
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
scattered over five miles or so, it may be a harder job. It
went to my heart to do it, though. I was half-mad when you
came up with us. However, there's no good grieving over
it. I've had ups in my life, and I've had downs, but I've
learned not to cry over spilled milk.”
“This is a very serious matter, Small,” said the detec-
tive. “If you had helped justice, instead of thwarting it in
this way, you would have had a better chance at your trial."
“Justice?” snarled the ex-convict. “A pretty justice!
Whose loot is this, if it is not ours? Where is the justice
that I should give it up to those who had never earned it?
Look how I have earned it. Twenty long years in that
fever-ridden swamp, all day at work under the mangrove
tree, all night chained up in the filthy convict huts, bitten by
mosquitoes, racked with ague, bullied by every cursed black-
faced policeman who loved to take it out of a white man.
That was how I earned the Agra treasure; and you talk to
me of justice because I can not bear to feel that I have paid
this price only that another may enjoy it! I would rather
swing a score of times, or have one of Tonga's darts in my
hide, than live in a convict's cell and feel that another man
is at his ease in a palace with the money that should be
mine!” Small had dropped his mask of stoicism, and all this
came out in a wild whirl of words, while his eyes blazed, and
the handcuffs clanked together with the impassioned move-
ment of his hands. I could understand, as I saw the fury
and the passion of the man, that it was no groundless or
unnatural terror which had possessed Major Sholto when
he first learned that the injured convict was upon his track.
“You forget that we know nothing of all this,” said
Holmes, quietly. “We have not heard your story, and we can
not tell how far justice may originally have been on your side."
“Well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken to me, though
I can see that I have you to thank that I have these brace-
lets upon my wrists. Still, I bear no grudge for that. It is
all fair and above-board. If you want to hear my story, I
have no wish to hold it back. What I say to you is God's
truth, every word of it. Thank you; you can put the glass
beside me here, and I'll put my lips to it if I am dry.
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“I am a Worcestershire man myself-born near Pershore.
I dare say you would find a heap of Smalls living there now
if you were to look. I have often thought of taking a look
round there, but the truth is that I was never much of a credit
to the family, and I doubt if they would be so very glad to
see me. They were all steady, chapel-going folk, small
farmers, well known and respected over the country-side,
while I was always a bit of a rover. At last, however, when
I was about eighteen, I gave them no more trouble, for I
got into a mess over a girl, and could only get out of it by
taking the queen's shilling and joining the Third Buffs,
which was just starting for India.
“I wasn't destined to do much soldiering, however. I
had just got past the goose-step, and learned to handle my
musket, when I was fool enough to go swimming in the
Ganges. Luckily for me, my company sergeant, John
Holder, was in the water at the same time, and he was one
of the finest swimmers in the service. A crocodile took me,
just as I was half-way across, and nipped off my right leg,
as clean as a surgeon could have done it, just above the
knee. What with the shock and loss of blood, I fainted, and
should have been drowned if Holder had not caught hold of
me and paddled for the bank. I was five months in hospital
over it, and when at last I was able to limp out of it, with
this timber toe strapped to my stump, I found myself in-
valided out of the army and unfitted for any active occu-
pation.
“I was, as you can imagine, pretty down on my luck at
this time, for I was a useless cripple, though not yet in my
twentieth year. However, my misfortune soon proved to be
a blessing in disguise. A man named Abelwhite, who had
come out there as an indigo-planter, wanted an overseer to
look after his.coolies and keep them up to their work. He
happened to be a friend of our colonel's, who had taken an
interest in me since the accident. To make a long story
short, the colonel recommended me strongly for the post,
and, as the work was mostly to be done on horseback, my
leg was no great obstacle, for I had enough knee left to keep
a good grip on the saddle. What I had to do was to ride
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
over the plantation, to keep an eye on the men as they
worked, and to report the idlers. The pay was fair, I had
comfortable quarters, and altogether I was content to spend
the remainder of my life in indigo-planting. Mr. Abelwhite
was a kind man, and he would often drop into my little
shanty and smoke a pipe with me, for white folk out there
feel their hearts warm to each other as they never do here
at home.
"Well, I was never in luck's way long. Suddenly, with-
out a note of warning, the great mutiny broke upon us. One
month India lay as still and peaceful, to all appearance, as
Surrey or Kent; the next there were two hundred thousand
black devils let loose, and the country was a perfect hell.
Of course, you know all about it, gentlemen, a deal more
than I do, very like, since reading is not in my line. I only
know what I saw with my own eyes. Our plantation was at
a place called Muttra, near the border of the Northwest
Provinces. Night after night the whole sky was alight with
the burning bungalows, and day after day we had small com-
panies of Europeans passing through our estate, with their
wives and children, on their way to Agra, where were the
nearest troops. Mr. Abelwhite was an obstinate man. He
had it in his head that the affair had been exaggerated, and
that it would blow over as suddenly as it had sprung up.
There he sat on his veranda, drinking whisky-pegs and smok-
ing cheroots, while the country was in a blaze about him. Of
course we stuck by him, I and Dawson, who, with his wife,
used to do the bookwork and the managing. Well, one fine
day the crash came. I had been away on a distant planta-
tion, and was riding slowly home in the evening, when my
eye fell upon something all huddled together at the bottom
of a steep nullah. I rode down to see what it was, and the
cold struck through my heart when I found it was Dawson's
wife, all cut into ribbons, and half-eaten by jackals and na-
tive dogs. A little further up the road Dawson himself was
lying on his face, quite dead, with an empty revolver in his
hand, and four Sepoys lying across one another in front of
him. I reined up my horse, wondering which way I should
turn, but at that moment I saw thick smoke curling up from
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
Abelwhite's bungalow and the flames beginning to burst
through the roof. I knew then that I could do my em-
ployer no good, but would only throw my own life away if
I meddled in the matter. From where I stood I could see
hundreds of the black fiends, with their red coats still on
their backs, dancing and howling round the burning house.
Some of them pointed at me, and a couple of bullets sung
past my head; so I broke away across the paddy-fields, and
found myself late at night safe within the walls at Agra.
"As it proved, however, there was no great safety there,
either. The whole country was up like a swarm of bees.
Wherever the English could collect in little bands they held
just the ground that their guns commanded. Everywhere
else they were helpless fugitives. It was a fight of the mil-
lions against the hundreds; and the cruelest part of it was
that these men that we fought against, foot, horse, and gun-
ners, were our own picked troops, whom we had taught and
trained, handling our own weapons, and blowing our own
bugle-calls. At Agra there were the Third Bengal Fusiliers,
some Sikhs, two troops of horse, and a battery of artillery.
A volunteer corps of clerks and merchants had been formed,
and this I joined, wooden leg and all. We went out to meet
the rebels at Shahgunge early in July, and we beat them
back for a time, but our powder gave out, and we had to fall
back upon the city. Nothing but the worst news came to us
from every side-which is not to be wondered at, for if you
look at the map you will see that we were right in the heart
of it. Lucknow is rather better than a hundred miles to the
east, and Cawnpore about as far to the south. From every
point on the compass there was nothing but torture, and
murder, and outrage.
“The city of Agra is a great place, swarming with fanat-
ics and fierce devil-worshipers of all sorts. Our handful of
men were lost among the narrow, winding streets. Our
leader moved across the river, therefore, and took up his
position in the old fort of Agra. I don't know if any of you
gentlemen have ever read or heard anything of that old fort.
It is a very queer place the queerest that ever I was in,
and I have been in some rum corners, too. First of all, it is
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
enormous in size. I should think that the enclosure must be
acres and acres. There is a modern part, which took all our
garrison, women, children, stores, and everything else, with
plenty of room over. But the modern part is nothing like
the size of the old quarter, where nobody goes, and which
is given over to the scorpions and the centipeds. It is all
full of great, deserted halls, and winding passages, and long
corridors twisting in and out, so that it is easy enough for
folks to get lost in it. For this reason it was seldom that
any one went into it, though now and again a party with
torches might go exploring.
“The river washes along the front of the old fort, and so
protects it, but on the sides and behind there are many doors,
and these had to be guarded, of course, in the old quarter as
well as in that which was actually held by our troops. We
were short-handed, with hardly men enough to man the
angles of the building and to serve the guns. It was impos-
sible for us, therefore, to station a strong guard at every one
of the innumerable gates. What we did was to organize a
central guard-house in the middle of the fort, and to leave
each gate under the charge of one white man and two or
three natives. I was selected to take charge during certain
hours of the night of a small, isolated door upon the south-
west side of the building. Two Sikh troopers were placed
under my command, and I was instructed if anything went
wrong to fire my musket, when I might rely upon help com-
ing at once from the central guard. As the guard was a
good two hundred paces away, however, and as the space be-
tween was cut up into a labyrinth of passages and corridors,
I had great doubts as to whether they could arrive in time
to be of any use in case of an actual attack.
“Well, I was pretty proud at having this small command
given me, since I was a raw recruit, and a game-legged one
at that. For two nights I kept the watch with my Pun-
jaubees. They were tall, fierce-looking chaps, Mohammed
Singh and Abdullah Khan by name, both old fighting-men
who had borne arms against us at Chillianwalla. They
could talk English pretty well, but I could get little out of
them. They preferred to stand together and jabber all
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
night in their queer Sikh lingo. For myself, I used to stand
outside the gateway, looking down on the broad, winding
river and on the twinkling lights of the great city. The
beating of drums, the rattle of tomtoms, and the yells and
howls of the rebels, drunk with opium and with bhang, were
enough to remind us all night of our dangerous neighbors
across the stream. Every two hours the officers of the night
used to come round to all the posts, to make sure that all
was well.
"The third night of my watch was dark and dirty, with
a small, driving rain. It was dreary work standing in the
gateway hour after hour in such weather. I tried again and
again to make my Sikhs talk, but without much success. At
two in the morning the rounds passed, and broke for a mo-
ment the weariness of the night. Finding that my com-
panions would not be led into conversation, I took out my
pipe, and laid down my musket to strike a match. In an
instant the two Sikhs were upon me. One of them snatched
my firelock up and leveled it at my head, while the other
held a great knife to my throat, and swore between his teeth
that he would plunge it into me if I moved a step.
“My first thought was that these fellows were in league
with the rebels, and that this was the beginning of an as-
sault. If our door were in the hands of the Sepoys the place
must fall, and the women and children be treated as they
were in Cawnpore. Maybe you gentlemen think that I am
just making out a case for myself, but I give you my word
that when I thought of that, though I felt the point of the
knee at my throat, I opened my mouth with the intention
of giving a scream, if it was my last one, which might alarm
the main guard. The man who held me seemed to know my
thoughts; for, even as I braced myself to it, he whispered:
‘Don't make a noise. The fort is safe enough. There are
no rebel dogs on this side of the river. There was the ring
of truth in what he said, and I knew that if I raised my voice
I was a dead man. I could read it in the fellow's brown
eyes. I waited, therefore, in silence, to see what it was they
wanted from me.
“ 'Listen to me, sahib,' said the taller and fiercer of the
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
pair, the one whom they called Abdullah Khan. 'You must
either be with us now or you must be silenced forever. The
thing is too great a one for us to hesitate. Either you are
heart and soul with us, on your oath on the cross of the
Christians, or your body this night shall be thrown into the
ditch, and we shall pass over to our brothers in the rebel
army. There is no middle way. Which is it to be, death or
life? We can only give you three minutes to decide, for the
time is passing, and all must be done before the rounds come
again.'
“ 'How can I decide?' said I. 'You have not told me what
you want of me. But I tell you now, that if it is anything
against the safety of the fort, I will have no truck with it;
so you can drive home your knife, and welcome.'
“ 'It is nothing against the fort,' said he. “We only ask
you to do that which your countrymen come to this land
for. We ask you to be rich. If you will be one of us this
night, we will swear to you upon the naked knife, and by the
threefold oath which no Sikh was ever known to break, that
you shall have your fair share of the loot. A quarter of the
treasure shall be yours. We can say no fairer.'
« 'But what is the treasure, then?' I asked. 'I am as
ready to be rich as you can be, if you will but show me how
it can be done.'
“'You swear, then,' said he, by the bones of your father,
by the honor of your mother, by the cross of your faith, to
raise no hand and speak no word against us, either now or
afterward?'
“ 'I will swear it,' I answered, 'provided that the fort is
not endangered.'
" "Then my comrades and I will swear that you shall have
a quarter of the treasure, which shall be equally divided
among the four of us.'
“ 'There are but three,' said I.
“ 'No; Dost Akbar must have his share. We can tell the
tale to you while we await them. Do you stand at the gate,
Mohammed Singh, and give notice of their coming. The
thing stands thus, sahib, and I tell it to you because I know
that an oath is binding upon a Feringhee, and that we may
(10)
Vol. 1
217


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
trust you. Had you been a lying Hindu, though you had
sworn by all the gods in their false temples, your blood
would have been upon the knife and your body in the water.
But the Sikh knows the Englishman, and the Englishman
knows the Sikh. Hearken, then, to what I have to say.
“ 'There is a rajah in the Northern Provinces who has
much wealth, though his lands are small. Much has come
to him from his father, and more still he has set by himself,
for he is of a low nature and hoards his gold rather than
spends it. When the troubles broke out he would be friends
both with the lion and the tiger--with the Sepoy and with
the Company's Raj. Soon, however, it seemed to him that
the white men's day was come, for through all the land he
could hear of nothing but of their death and their overthrow.
Yet, being a careful man, he made such plans that, come
what might, half at least of his treasure should be left to
him. That which was in gold and silver he kept by him in
the vaults of his palace, but the most precious stones and
the choicest pearls that he had he put in an iron box, and
sent it by a trusty servant who, under the guise of a mer-
chant, should take it to the fort at Agra, there to lie until
the land is at peace. Thus, if the rebels won he would have
his money, but if the Company conquered, his jewels would
be saved to him. Having thus divided his hoard, he threw
himself into the cause of the Sepoys, since they were strong
upon his borders. By his doing this, mark you, sahib, his
property becomes the due of those who have been true to
their salt.
“'This pretended merchant, who travels under the name
of Achmet, is now in the city of Agra, and desires to gain his
way into the fort. He has with him, as traveling companion,
my foster-brother, Dost Akbar, who knows his secret. Dost
Akbar has promised this night to lead him to a side-postern
of the fort, and has chosen this one for his purpose. Here
he will come presently, and here he will find Mohammed
Singh and myself awaiting him. The place is lonely, and
none shall know of his coming. The world shall know of the
merchant Achmet no more, but the great treasure of the
rajah shall be divided among us. What say you to it, sahib?"
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
"In Worcestershire the life of a man seems a great and
a sacred thing; but it is very different when there is fire
and blood all round you and you have been used to meeting
death at every turn. Whether Achmet the merchant lived
or died was a thing as light as air to me, but at the talk
about the treasure my heart turned to it, and I thought of
what I might do in the old country with it, and how my folk
would stare when they saw their ne'er-do-weel coming back
with his pockets full of gold moidores. I had, therefore, al-
ready made up my mind. Abdullah Khan, however, thinking
that I hesitated, pressed the matter more closely.
“ 'Consider, sahib,' said he, 'that if this man is taken by
the commandant he will be hanged or shot, and his jewels
taken by the Government, so that no man will be a rupee
the better for them. Now, since we do the taking of him,
why should we not do the rest as well? The jewels will be
as well with us as in the Company's coffers. There will be
enough to make every one of us rich men and great chiefs.
No one can know about the matter, for here we are cut off
from all men. What could be better for the purpose? Say
again, then, sahib, whether you are with us, or if we must
look upon you as an enemy.'
“ 'I am with you heart and soul,' said I.
“ 'It is well,” he answered, handing me back my firelock.
'You see that we trust you, for your word, like ours, is not
to be broken. We have now only to wait for my brother and
the merchant.'
“ 'Does your brother know, then, of what you will do?' I
asked.
“ 'The plan is his. He has devised it. We will go to the
gate and share the watch with Mohammed Singh.'
“The rain was still falling steadily, for it was just the be-
ginning of the wet season. Brown, heavy clouds were drift.
ing across the sky, and it was hard to see more than a stone-
cast. A deep moat lay in front of our door, but the water
was in places nearly dried up, and it could easily be crossed.
It was strange to me to be standing there with those two
wild Punjaubees waiting for the man who was coming to his
death.
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“Suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded lantern
at the other side of the moat. It vanished among the
mound-heaps, and then appeared again coming slowly in
our direction.
“ 'Here they are!' I exclaimed.
“'You will challenge him, sahib, as usual,' whispered Ab-
dullah. 'Give him no cause for fear. Send us in with him,
and we shall do the rest while you stay here on guard.
Have the lantern ready to uncover, that we may be sure
that it is indeed the man.'
"The light had flickered onward, now stopping and now
advancing, until I could see two dark figures upon the other
side of the moat. I let them scramble down the sloping
bank, splash through the mire, and climb half-way up to the
gate, before I challenged them.
“Who goes there?' said I, in a subdued voice.
“ 'Friends,' came the answer. I uncovered my lantern
and threw a flood of light upon them. The first was an
enormous Sikh, with a black beard which swept nearly down
to his cummerbund. Outside of a show I have never seen
so tall a man. The other was a little, fat, round fellow, with
a great yellow turban, and a bundle in his hand, done ur in
a shawl. He seemed to be all in a quiver with fear, for his
hands twitched as if he had the ague, and his head kept
turning to left and right with two bright little twinkling
eyes, like a mouse when he ventures out from his hole. It
gave me the chills to think of killing him, but I thought of
the treasure, and my heart set as hard as a flint within me.
When he saw my white face he gave a little chirrup of joy
and came running up toward me.
“ 'Your protection, sahib,' he panted; 'your protection for
the unhappy merchant Achmet. I have traveled across Raj-
pootana that I might seek the shelter of the fort at Agra. I
have been robbed, and beaten, and abused because I have
been the friend of the Company. It is a blessed night this
when I am once more in safety-I and my poor posses-
sions.
“ 'What have you in the bundle?' I asked.
“ 'An iron box,' he answered, 'which contains one or two
220


. THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
little family matters which are of no value to others, but
which I should be sorry to lose. Yet I am not a beggar;
and I shall reward you, young sahib, and your governor
also, if he will give me the shelter I ask.'
“I could not trust myself to speak longer with the man.
The more I looked at his fat, frightened face, the harder
did it seem that we should slay him in cold blood. It was
best to get it over.
“'Take him to the main guard,' said I. The two Sikhs
closed in upon him on each side, and the giant walked be-
hind, while they marched in through the dark gateway.
Never was a man so compassed round with death. I re-
mained at the gateway with the lantern.
"I could hear the measured tramp of their footsteps
sounding through the lonely corridors. Suddenly it ceased,
and I heard voices, and a scuffle, with the sound of blows.
A moment later there came, to my horror, a rush of foot-
steps coming in my direction, with the loud breathing of a
running man. I turned my lantern down the long, straight
passage, and there was the fat man, running like the wind,
with a smear of blood across his face, and close at his
heels, bounding like a tiger, the great, black-bearded Sikh,
with a knife flashing in his hand. I have never seen a man
run so fast as that little merchant. He was gaining on the
Sikh, and I could see that if he once passed me and got to
the open air, he would save himself yet. My heart softened
to him, but again the thought of his treasure turned me
hard and bitter. I cast my fire-lock between his legs as he
raced past, and he rolled twice over like a shot rabbit. Ere
he could stagger to his feet the Sikh was upon him, and
buried his knife twice in his side. The man never uttered
moan nor moved muscle, but lay where he had fallen. I
think, myself, that he may have broken his neck with the
fall. You see, gentlemen, that I am keeping my promise.
I am telling you every word of this business just exactly as
it happened, whether it is in my favor or not."
He stopped, and held out his manacled hands for the
whisky and water which Holmes had brewed for him. For
myself, I confess that I had now conceived the utmost hor-
221


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
ror of the man, not only for this cold blooded business in
which he had been concerned, but even more for the some-
what Aippant and careless way in which he narrated it.
Whatever punishment was in store for him, I felt that he
might expect no sympathy from me. Sherlock Holmes and
Jones sat with their hands upon their knees, deeply inter-
ested in the story, but with the same disgust written upon
their faces. He may have observed it, for there was a touch
of defiance in his voice and manner as he proceeded:
"It was all very bad, no doubt," said he. “I should like
to know how many fellows in my shoes would have refused
a share of this loot when they knew that they would have
their throats cut for their pains. Besides, it was my life or
his when once he was in the fort. If he had got out, the
whole business would have come to light, and I should have
been court-martialed and shot as likely as not; for people
were not very lenient at a time like that.”
“Go on with your story,” said Holmes, shortly.
“Well, we carried him in, Abdullah, Akar, and I. A fine
weight he was, too, for all that he was so short. Mohammed
Singh was left to guard the door. We took him to a place
which the Sikhs had already prepared. It was some distance
off, where a winding passage leads to a great empty hall, the
brick walls of which were all crumbling to pieces. The
earth floor had sunk in at one place, making a natural grave,
so we left Achmet the merchant there, having first covered
him over with loose bricks. This done, we all went back to
the treasure.
"It lay where he had dropped it when he was first at-
tacked. The box was the same which now lies open upon
your table. A key was hung by a silken cord to that carved
handle upon the top. We opened it, and the light of the
lantern gleamed upon a collection of gems such as I have
read of and thought about when I was a little lad at Per-
shore. It was blinding to look upon them. When we had
feasted our eyes we took them all out and made a list of
them. There were one hundred and forty-three diamonds
of the first water, including one which has been called, I
believe, 'the Great Mogul,' and is said to be the second
222


THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
largest stone in existence. Then there were ninety-seven !
very fine emeralds, and one hundred and seventy rubies,
some of which, however, were small. There were forty car-
buncles, two hundred and ten sapphires, sixty-one agates,
and a great quantity of beryls, onyxes, cat's-eyes, turquoises,
and other stones, the very names of which I did not know
at the time, though I have become more familiar with them
since. Besides this, there were nearly three hundred very
fine pearls, twelve of which were set in a gold chaplet. By
the way, these last had been taken out of the chest and were
not there when I recovered it.
“After we had counted our treasures we put them back
into the chest and carried them to the gateway to show them
to Mohammed Singh. Then we solemnly renewed our oath
to stand by each other and be true to our secret. We agreed
to conceal our loot in a safe place until the country should
be at peace again, and then to divide it equally among our-
selves. There was no use dividing it at present, for if gems
of such value were found upon us it would cause suspicion,
and there was no privacy in the fort nor any place where
we could keep them. We carried the box, therefore, into the
same hall where we had buried the body, and there, under
certain bricks, in the best preserved wall, we made a hollow
and put our treasure. We made careful note of the place,
and next day I drew four plans, one for each of us, and put -
the sign of the four of us at the bottom, for we had sworn
that we should each always act for all, so that none might
take advantage. That is an oath that I can put my hand
to my heart and swear that I have never broken.
"Well, there is no use my telling you, gentlemen, what
came of the Indian mutiny. After Wilson took Delhi, and
Sir Colin relieved Lucknow, the back of the business was
broken. Fresh troops came pouring in, and Nana Sahib
made himself scarce over the frontier. A flying columni
under Colonel Greathead came round to Agra and cleared
the Pandies away from it. Peace seemed to be settling upon :
the country, and we four were beginning to hope that the.
time was at hand when we might safely go off with our
shares of the plunder. In a moment, however, our hopes
223


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
were shattered, by our being arrested as the murderers of
Achmet.
“It came about in this way. When the rajah put his jew-
els into the hands of Achmet, he did it because he knew that
he was a trusty man. They are suspicious folk in the East,
however; so what does this rajah do but take a second even
more trusty servant, and set him to play the spy upon the
first. This second man was ordered never to let Achmet out
of his sight, and he followed him like his shadow. He went
after him that night, and saw him pass through the door-
way. Of course he thought he had taken refuge in the fort,
and applied for admission there himself next day, but could
find no trace of Achmet. This seemed to him so strange
that he spoke about it to a sergeant of guides, who brought
it to the ears of the commandant. A thorough search was
quickly made, and the body was discovered. Thus at the
very moment that we thought that all was safe, we were all
four seized and brought to trial on a charge of murder-
three of us because we had held the gate that night, and the
fourth because he was known to have been in the company of
the murdered man. Not a word about the jewels came out at
the trial, for the rajah had been deposed and driven out of
India; so no one had any particular interest in them. The
murder, however, was clearly made out, and it was certain
that we must all have been concerned in it. The three Sikhs
got penal servitude for life, and I was condemned to death,
though my sentence was afterward commuted into the same
as the others.
"It was rather a queer position that we found ourselves
in then. There we were all four tied by the leg, and with
precious little chance of ever getting out again, while we
each held a secret which might have put each of us in a
palace if we could only have made use of it. It was enough
to make a man eat his heart out to have to stand the kick
and the cuff of every petty jack-in-office, to have rice to eat
and water to drink, when that gorgeous fortune was ready
for him outside, just waiting to be picked up. It might have
driven me mad; but I was always a pretty stubborn one, so
I just held on and bided my time.
224


THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
“At last it seemed to me to have come. I was changed
from Agra to Madras, and from there to Blair Island, in the
Andamans. There are very few white convicts at this set-
tlement, and, as I had behaved well from the first, I soon
found myself a privileged person. I was given a hut in
Hope Town, which is a small place on the slopes of Mount
Harriet, and I was left pretty much to myself. It is a dreary,
fever-stricken place, and all beyond our little clearings was
infested with wild cannibal natives, who were ready enough
to blow a poisoned dart at us if they saw a chance. There
were digging, and ditching, and yam-planting, and a dozen
other things to be done, so we were busy enough all day;
though in the evening we had a little time to ourselves.
Among other things, I learned to dispense drugs for the sur-
geon, and picked up a smattering of his knowledge. All the
time I was on the lookout for a chance of escape; but it is
hundreds of miles from any other land, and there is little
or no wind in those seas; so it was a terribly difficult job
to get away.
“The surgeon, Doctor Somerton, was a fast, sporting
young chap, and the other young officers would meet in his
rooms of an evening and play cards. The surgery, where I
used to make up my drugs, was next to his sitting-room,
with a small window between us. Often, if I felt lonesome,
I used to turn out the lamp in the surgery, and then, stand-
ing there, I could hear their talk and watch their play. I
am fond of a hand at cards myself, and it was almost as
good as having one to watch the others. There were Major
Sholto, Captain Morstan, and Lieutenant Bromley Brown,
who were in command of the native troops, and there were
the surgeon himself, and two or three prison officials, crafty
old hands who played a nice, sly, safe game. A very snug
little party they used to make.
“Well, there was one thing which very soon struck me,
and that was that the soldiers used always to lose and the
civilians to win. Mind, I don't say that there was anything
unfair, but so it was. These prison chaps had done little
else than play cards ever since they had been at the Anda-
mans, and they knew each other's game to a point, while the
225


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
others just played to pass the time and threw their cards
down anyhow. Night after night the soldiers got up poorer
men, and the poorer they got the more keen they were to
play. Major Sholto was the hardest hit. He used to pay in
notes and gold at first, but soon it came to notes of hand,
and for big sums. He sometimes would win for a few deals,
just to give him heart, and then the luck would set in against
him worse than ever. All day he would wander about as
black as thunder, and he took to drinking a deal more than
was good for him.
“One night he lost even more heavily than usual. I was
sitting in my hut when he and Captain Morstan came stum-
bling along on the way to their quarters. They were bosom
friends, those two, and never far apart. The major was rav-
ing about his losses.
“'It's all up, Morstan,' he was saying, as they passed my
hut. 'I shall have to send in my papers. I am a ruined man.'
“'Nonsense, old chap!' said the other, slapping him upon
the shoulder. 'I've had a nasty facer myself, but- That
was all I could hear, but it was enough to set me thinking.
“A couple of days later Major Sholto was strolling on
the beach; so I took the chance of speaking to him.
“ 'I wish to have your advice, major,' said I.
“ 'Well, Small, what is it?' he said, taking his cheroot
from his lips.
"'I wanted to ask you, sir,' said I, 'who is the proper
person to whom hidden treasure should be handed over,
I know where half a million worth lies, and, as I can not
use it myself, I thought perhaps the best thing that I could
do would be to hand it over to the proper authorities, and
then, perhaps, they would get my sentence shortened for
me.'
“'Half a million, Small?' he gasped, looking hard at me
to see if I was in earnest.
“Quite that, sir–in jewels and pearls. It lies there
ready for any one. And the queer thing about it is that the
real owner is outlawed and can not hold property, so that
it belongs to the first comer.'
“ 'To government, Small,' he stammered; 'to government.'
226


THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
But he said it in a halting fashion, and I knew in my heart
that I had got him.
“'You think, then, sir, that I should give the information
to the Governor-General?' said I, quietly.
“Well, well, you must not do anything rash, or that you
might repent. Let me hear all about it, Small. Give me the
facts.
"I told him the whole story, with small changes, so that
he could not identify the place. When I had finished he
stood stock-still and full of thought. I could see by the
twitch of his lip that there was a struggle going on within
him.
“ 'This is a very important matter, Small,' he said, at last.
'You must not say a word to any one about it, and I shall
see you again soon.
“Two nights later he and his friend, Captain Morstan,
came to my hut in the dead of the night with a lantern.
“ 'I want you just to let Captain Morstan hear that story
from your own lips, Small,' said he.
"I repeated it as I had told it before.
“ 'It rings true, eh?' said he. 'It's good enough to act
upon ?
Captain Morstan nodded.
“ 'Look here, Small,' said the major. 'We have been talk-
ing it over, my friend here and I, and we have come to the
conclusion that this secret of yours is hardly a government
matter after all, but is a private concern of your own, which,
of course, you have the power of disposing of as you think
best. Now, the question is, what price would you ask for it?
We might be inclined to take it up, and at least look into
it, if we could agree as to terms. He tried to speak in a
cool, careless way, but his eyes were shining with excite-
ment and greed.
“'Why, as to that, gentlemen,' I answered, trying also to
be cool, but feeling as excited as he did, 'there is only one
bargain which a man in my position can make. I shall want
you to help me to my freedom, and to help my three com-
panions to theirs. We shall then take you into partnership,
and give you a fifth share to divide between you."
227


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“ 'Hum!' said he. “A fifth a share! That is not very
tempting.'
“ 'It would come to fifty thousand apiece,' said I.
“'But how can we gain your freedom? You know very
well that you ask an impossibility.'
“ 'Nothing of the sort,' I answered. 'I have thought it all
out to the last detail. The only bar to our escape is that
we can get no boat fit for the voyage, and no provisions to
last us for so long a time. There are plenty of little yachts
and yawls at Calcutta or Madras which would serve our
turn well. Do you bring one over. We shall engage to get
aboard her by night, and if you will drop us on any part of
the Indian coast you will have done your part of the bar-
gain.'
“ 'If there was only one,' he said.
“None or all,' I answered. 'We have sworn it. The
four of us must always act together.'
“'You see, Morstan,' said he, ‘Small is a man of his
word. He does not flinch from his friends. I think we may
very well trust him.'
“ 'It's a dirty business,' the other answered. 'Yet, as you
say, the money would save our commissions handsomely.'
“ 'Well, Small,' said the major, 'we must, I suppose, try and
meet you. We must first, of course, test the truth of your
story. Tell me where the box is hid, and I shall get leave of
absence and go back to India in the monthly relief-boat to
inquire into the affair.'
“ 'Not so fast,' said I, growing colder as he got hot. 'I
must have the consent of my three comrades. I tell you
that it is four or none with us.'
“'Nonsense!' he broke in. 'What have three black fel-
lows to do with our agreement?'
“ 'Black or blue,' said I, 'they are in with me, and we all
go together.'
"Well, the matter ended by a second meeting, at which
Mohammed Singh, Abdullah Khan, and Dost Akbar were
all present. We talked the matter over again, and at last we
came to an arrangement. We were to provide both the offi-
cers with charts of the part of the Agra fort, and mark the
228


THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
place in the wall where the treasure was hid. Major Sholto
was to go to India to test our story. If he found the box he
was to leave it there, to send out a small yacht provisioned
for a voyage, which was to lie off Rutland Island, and to
which we were to make our way, and finally to return to his
duties. Captain Morstan was then to apply for leave of
absence, to meet us at Agra, and there we were to have a
final division of the treasure, he taking the major's share
as well as his own. All this we sealed by the most solemn
oaths that the mind could think or the lips utter. I sat up
all night with paper and ink, and by the morning I had the
two charts all ready, signed with the sign of the four-that
is, of Abdullah, Akbar, Mohammed, and myself.
“Well, gentlemen, I weary you with my long story, and
I know that my friend, Mr. Jones, is impatient to get me
safely stowed in chokey. I'll make it as short as I can. The
villain Sholto went off to India, but he never came back
again. Captain Morstan showed me his name among a list
of passengers in one of the mail boats very shortly after-
ward. His uncle had died, leaving him a fortune, and he had
left the army, yet he could stoop to treat five men as he had
treated us. Morstan went over to Agra shortly afterward,
and found, as we expected, that the treasure was indeed
gone. The scoundrel had stolen it all, without carrying out
one of the conditions on which we had sold him the secret.
From that day I lived only for vengeance. I thought of it
by day and I nursed it by night. It became an overpower-
ing, absorbing passion with me. I cared nothing for the law
-nothing for the gallows. To escape, to track down Sholto,
to have my hand upon his throat-that was my one thought.
Even the Agra treasure had come to be a smaller thing in
my mind than the slaying of Sholto.
“Well, I have set my mind on many things in this life,
and never one which I did not carry out. But it was weary
years before my time came. I have told you that I had
picked up something of medicine. One day, when Doctor
Somerton was down with a fever, a little Andaman Islander
was picked up by a convict-gang in the woods. He was
sick to death, and had gone to a lonely place to die. I took
229


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
him in hand, though he was as venomous as a young snake,
and after a couple of months I got him all right and able to
walk. He took a kind of fancy to me then, and would hardly
go back to his woods, but was always hanging about my hut.
I learned a little of his lingo from him, and this made him all
the fonder of me.
“Tonga-for that was his name—was a fine boatman, and
owned a big, roomy canoe of his own. When I found that
he was devoted to me and would do anything to serve me,
I saw my chance to escape. I talked it over with him. He
was to bring his boat round on a certain night to an old
wharf which was never guarded, and there he was to pick me
up. I gave him directions to have several gourds of water
and a lot of yams, cocoanuts, and sweet potatoes.
“He was stanch and true, was little Tonga. No man ever
had a more faithful mate. At the night named he had his
boat at the wharf. As it chanced, however, there was one of
the convict-guard down there-a vile Pathan who had never
missed a chance of insulting and injuring me. I had always
vowed vengeance, and now I had my chance. It was as if
fate had placed him in my way that I might pay my debt
before I left the island. He stood on the bank with his back
to me, and his carbine on his shoulder. I looked about for
a stone to beat out his brains with, but none could I see.
Then a queer thought came into my head and showed me
where I could lay my hand on a weapon. I sat down in the
darkness and unstrapped my wooden leg. With three long
hops I was on him. He put his carbine to his shoulder, but
I struck him full and knocked the whole front of his skull in.
You can see the split in the wood now where I hit him. We
both went down together, for I could not keep my balance,
but when I got up I found him still lying quiet enough. I
made for the boat, and in an hour we were well out at sea.
Tonga had brought all his earthly possessions with him, his
arms and his gods. Among other things, he had a long
bamboo spear, and some Andaman cocoanut matting, with
which I made a sort of a sail. For ten days we were beating
about, trusting to luck, and on the eleventh we were picked
up by a trader which was going from Singapore to Jiddah
230


THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
with a cargo of Malay pilgrims. They were a rum crowd,
and Tonga and I soon managed to settle down among them.
They had one very good quality; they let you alone and
asked no questions.
"Well, if I were to tell you all the adventures that my
little chum and I went through, you would not thank me, for
I would have you here until the sun was shining. Here and
there we drifted about the world, something always turning
up to keep us from London. All the time, however, I never
lost sight of my purpose. I would dream of Sholto at night.
A hundred times I have killed him in my sleep. At last,
however, some three or four years ago, we found ourselves
in England. I had no great difficulty in finding where Sholto
lived, and I set to work to discover whether he had realized
the treasure or if he still had it. I made friends with some
one who could help me-I name no names, for I don't want
to get any one else in a hole—and I soon found that he still
had the jewels. Then I tried to get at him in many ways;
but he was pretty sly, and had always two prize-fighters,
besides his sons and his khitmutgar, on guard over him.
“One day, however, I got word that he was dying. I
hurried at once to the garden, mad that he should slip out
of my clutches like that, and, looking through the window, I
saw him lying in his bed, with his sons on each side of him.
I'd have come through and taken my chance with the three
of them, only, even as I looked at him, his jaw dropped, and
I knew that he was gone. I got into his room that same
night, though, and I searched his papers to see if there was
any record of where he had hidden our jewels. There was
not a line, however; so I came away, bitter and savage as a
man could be. Before I left I bethought me that if I ever
met my Sikh friends again it would be a satisfaction to know
that I had left some mark of our hatred; so I scrawled down
the sign of the four of us, as it had been on the chart, and I
pinned it on his bosom. It was too much that he should be
taken to the grave without some token from the men whom
he had robbed and befooled.
"We earned a living at this time by my exhibiting poor
Tonga at fairs and other such places as the black cannibal.
231


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
He would eat raw meat and dance his war-dance; so we
always had a hatful of pennies after a day's work. I still
heard all the news from Pondicherry Lodge, and for some
years there was no news to hear, except that they were hunt-
ing for the treasure. At last, however, came what we had
waited for so long. The treasure had been found. It was
up at the top of the house, in Mr. Bartholomew Sholto's
chemical laboratory. I came at once and had a look at the
place, but I could not see how, with my wooden leg, I was
to make my way up to it. I learned, however, about a trap-
door in the roof, and also about Mr. Sholto's supper-hour,
It seemed to me that I could manage the thing easily through
Tonga. I brought him out with me with a long rope wound
round his waist. He could climb like a cat, and he soon
made his way through the roof, but, as ill-luck would have
it, Bartholomew Sholto was still in the room, to his cost.
Tonga thought he had done something very clever in killing
him, for when I came up by the rope I found him strutting
about as proud as a peacock. Very much surprised was he
when I made at him with the rope's end and cursed him for
a little bloodthirsty imp. I took the treasure-box and let it
down, and then slid down myself, having first left the sign
of the four upon the table, to show that the jewels had come
back at last to those who had most right to them. Tonga
then pulled up the rope, closed the window, and made off
the way that he had come.
"I don't know that I have anything else to tell you. I
had heard a waterman speak of the speed of Smith's launch,
the 'Aurora,' so I thought she would be a handy craft for
our escape. I engaged with old Smith, and was to give him
a big sum if he got us safe to our ship. He knew, no doubt,
that there was some screw loose, but he was not in our
secrets. All this is the truth, and if I tell it to you, gentle-
men, it is not to amuse you for you have not done me a
very good turn-but it is because I believe the best defense
I can make is just to hold back nothing, but let all the
world know how badly I have myself been served by Major
Sholto, and how innocent I am of the death of his son.”
“A very remarkable account,” said Sherlock Holmes. "A
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THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
fitting wind-up to an extremely interesting case. There is
nothing at all new to me in the latter part of your narrative,
except that you brought your own rope. That I did not
know. By the way, I had hoped that Tonga had lost all his
darts; yet he managed to shoot one at us in the boat.”
"He had lost them all, sir, except the one which was in
his blow-pipe at the time.”
"Ah, of course,” said Holmes, “I had not thought of
that.”
“Is there any other point which you would like to ask
about?" asked the convict, affably.
"I think not, thank you," my companion answered.
“Well, Holmes,” said Athelney Jones, "you are a man to
be humored, and we all know that you are a connoisseur of
crime, but duty is duty, and I have gone rather far in doing
what you and your friend asked me. I shall feel more at
ease when we have our story-teller here safe under lock and
key. The cab still waits, and there are two inspectors
downstairs. I am much obliged to you both for your assist-
ance. Of course you will be wanted at the trial. Good-night
to you."
“Good-night, gentlemen both,” said Jonathan Small.
“You first, Small,” remarked the wary Jones as they left
the room. "I'll take particular care that you don't club me
with your wooden leg, whatever you may have done to the
gentleman at the Andaman Isles.".
"Well, and there is the end of our little drama," I re-
marked, after we had sat some time looking in silence. “I
fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall
have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan
has done me the honor to accept me as a husband in
prospective.”
He gave a most dismal groan. “I feared as much," said
he; “I really can not congratulate you."
I was a little hurt. "Have you any reason to be dissatis-
fied with my choice?" I asked.
“Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming
young ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful
in such work as we have been doing. She has a decided
233


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
genius that way; witness the way in which she preserved
that Agra plan from all the other papers of her father. But
love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is
opposed to that true cold reason which I place above
all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my
judgment.”
“I trust,” said I, laughing, "that my judgment may sur-
vive the ordeal. But you look weary.'
“Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as
limp as a rag for a week.”
"Strange,” said I, "how terms of what in another man I
should call laziness alternate with fits of splendid energy
and vigor."
“Yes,” he answered, “there are in me the makings of a
very fine loafer, and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I
often think of those lines of old Goethe-
• "Schade dass die Natur nur einen Mensch aus dir schuf,
Denn zum wurdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.'
By the way, apropos of this Norwood business, you see that
they had, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who
could be none other than Lal Rao, the butler; so Jones
actually has the undivided honor of having caught one fish
in his great haul.”
“The division seems rather unfair," I remarked. “You
have done all the work in this business. I get a wife out of
it, Jones gets the credit, pray what remains for you?"
“For me," said Sherlock Holmes, “there still remains
the cocaine bottle.” And he stretched his long white hand
up for it.


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
BY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
*
8
*
“A Scandal in Bohemia,” which many
people consider the author's best short story,
describes the one instance in which Sherlock
Holmes acknowledges himself “beaten by a
woman's wit''; he always speaks of Irene
Adler as THE woman. St. John's Wood,
London, where the scene of the story is laid,
is well known as the quarter of the city in
which the professional artistic element of the
population resides.


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
By SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
YO Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I'
have seldom heard him mention her under any
other name. In his eyes she eclipses and pre-
dominates the whole of her sex. It was not that
he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emo-
tions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold,
precise, but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it,
the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the
world has seen; but as a lover he would have placed himself
in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions,
save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things
for the observer-excellent for drawing the veil from men's
motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit
such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted
temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which
might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in
a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-
power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong
emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one
woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler,
of dubious and questionable memory.
I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had
drifted us away from each other. My own complete happi-
ness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around
the man who first finds himself master of his own establish-
ment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention; while
Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole
Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street,
buried among his old books, and alternating from week to
week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the
drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He wasi
237


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and
occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of
observation in following out those clues, and clearing up
those mysteries, which had been abandoned as hopeless by
the official police. From time to time I heard some vague
account of his doings; of his summons to Odessa in the case
of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular
tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally
of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and
successfully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond
these signs of his activity, however, which I merely shared
with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my
former friend and companion.
One night-it was on the 20th of March, 1888—I was
returning from a journey to a patient (for I had now re-
turned to civil practise), when my way led me through Baker
Street. As I passed the well-remembered door, which must
always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with
the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet; I was seized with
a keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was
employing his extraordinary powers. His rooms were bril-
liantly lighted, and even as I looked up, I saw his tall spare
figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind. He
was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk
upon his chest, and his hands clasped behind him. To me,
who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and man-
ner told their own story. He was at work again. He had
risen out of his drug-created dreams, and was hot upon the
scent of some new problem. I rang the bell, and was shown
up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.
His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was
glad, I think, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but
with a kindly eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across
his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene
in the corner. Then he stood before the fire, and looked me
over in his singular introspective fashion.
“Wedlock suits you,” he remarked. "I think, Watson,
that you have put on seven and a half pounds since I saw
you."
238


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
remarked, endeavoring to imitate my companion's processes.
"Such paper could not be bought under half a crown a packet.
It is peculiarly strong and stiff.”
"Peculiar—that is the very word,” said Holmes. "It is
not an English paper at all. Hold it up to the light.”
I did so, and saw a large E with a small g, a P and a
large G with a small t woven into the texture of the paper.
“What do you make of that?" asked Holmes.
“The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram,
rather."
“Not at all. The G with the small t stands for 'Gesell-
schaft,' which is the German for 'Company. It is a cus-
tomary contraction like our 'Co.' P, of course, stands for
'Papier. Now for the Eg. Let us glance at our 'Continental
Gazetteer.'” He took down a heavy brown volume from his
shelves. “Eglow, Eglonitz-here we are, Egria. It is in a
German-speaking country-in Bohemia, not far from Carls-
bad. 'Remarkable as being the scene of the death of Wal-
lenstein, and for its numerous glass factories and paper mills.'
Ha! ha! my boy, what do you make of that?” His eyes
sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud from
his cigarette.
“The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.
“Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a Ger-
man. Do you note the peculiar construction of the sentence
- 'This account of you we have from all quarters received'?
A Frenchman or Russian could not have written that. It
is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only
remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this Ger-
man who writes upon Bohemian paper, and prefers wearing
a mask to showing his face. And here he comes, if I am not
mistaken, to resolve all our doubts."
As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs
and grating wheels against the curb followed by a sharp pull
at the bell. Holmes whistled.
“A pair, by the sound,” said he. “Yes," he continued,
glancing out of the window. "A nice little brougham and a
pair of beauties. A hundred and fifty guineas apiece.
There's money in this case, Watson, if there is nothing else."
Vol. I
241


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
"I think I had better go, Holmes."
“Not a bit, doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost with-
out my Boswell. And this promises to be interesting. It
would be a pity to miss it."
“But your client-"
"Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may
he. Here he comes. Sit down in that armchair, doctor, and
give us your best attention."
A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the
stairs and in the passage, paused immediately outside the
door.
Then there was a loud and authoritative tap.
“Come in!" said Holmes.
A man entered who could hardly have been less than
six feet six inches in height, with the chest and limbs of a
Hercules. His dress was rich with a richness which would,
in England, be looked upon as akin to bad taste. Heavy
bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and front
of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which
was thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-colored
silk, and secured at the neck with a brooch which consisted
of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended half-way
up his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with rich
brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence
which was suggested by his whole appearance. He carried
a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the
upper part of his face, extending down past the cheek-bones,
a black visard-mask, which he had apparently adjusted that
very moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered.
From the lower part of the face he appeared to be a man
of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long,
straight chin, suggestive of resolution pushed to the length
of obstinacy.
"You had my note?” he asked, with a deep, harsh voice
and a strongly marked German accent. “I told you that I
would call.” He looked from one to the other of us, as if
uncertain which to address.
"Pray take a seat,” said Holmes. “This is my friend
and colleague, Doctor Watson, who is occasionally good
242


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
enough to help me in my cases. Whom have I the honor
to address?"
"You may address me as the Count von Kramm, a Bo-
hemian nobleman. I understand that this gentleman, your
friend, is a man of honor and discretion, whom I may trust
with a matter of the most extreme importance. If not, I
should much prefer to communicate with you alone."
I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and
pushed me back into my chair. “It is both, or none," said
he. "You may say before this gentleman anything which
you may say to me.”
The count shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then I must
begin,” said he, "by binding you both to absolute secrecy
for two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of
no importance. At present it is not too much to say that it
is of such weight that it may have an influence upon Euro-
pean history."
“I promise," said Holmes.'
“And I.”
“You will excuse this mask,” continued our strange vis-
itor. “The august person who employs me wishes his agent
to be unknown to you, and I may confess at once that the title
by which I have just called myself is not exactly my own."
“I was aware of it,” said Holmes, dryly.
“The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every pre-
caution has to be taken to quench what might grow to be an
immense scandal, and seriously compromise one of the reign-
ing families of Europe. To speak plainly, the matter im-
plicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary kings of
Bohemia."
"I was also aware of that,” murmured Holmes, settling
himself down in his armchair, and closing his eyes.
Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the
languid, lounging figure of the man who had been, no doubt,
depicted to him as the most incisive reasoner and most en-
ergetic agent in Europe. Holmes slowly reopened his eyes
and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.
"If your majesty would condescend to state your case,"
he remarked, "I should be better able to advise you."
243


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
The man sprang from his chair, and paced up and down
the room in uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture
of desperation, he tore the mask from his face and hurled
it upon the ground.
“You are right,” he cried, "I am the king. Why should I
attempt to conceal it?”
"Why, indeed?” murmured Holmes. “Your majesty had
not spoken before I was aware that I was addressing Wil-
helm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of
Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of Bohemia.”
"But you can understand,” said our strange visitor, sit-
ting down once more and passing his hand over his high,
white forehead, "you can understand that I am not accus-
tomed to doing such business in my own person. Yet the
matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to an
agent without putting myself in his power. I have come
incognito from Prague for the purpose of consulting you."
“Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting his eyes once
more.
“The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during
a lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the
well-known adventuress Irene Adler. The name is no doubt
familiar to you."
“Kindly look her up in my index, doctor,” murmured
Holmes, without opening his eyes. For many years he had
adopted a system for docketing all paragraphs concerning
men and things, so that it was difficult to name a subject
or a person on which he could not at once furnish informa-
tion. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in be-
tween that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander
who had written a monogram upon the deep-sea fishes.
“Let me see!” said Holmes. “Hum! Born in New Jersey
in the year 1858. Contralto-hum! La Scala-hum! Prima
donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw-yes! Retired from oper-
atic stage—ha! Living in London-quite so! Your majesty,
as I understand, became entangled with this young person,
wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous
of getting those letters back.”
"Precisely so. But how—"
244


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
"Was there a secret marriage?”
“None."
“No legal papers or certificates?"
“None.”
"Then I fail to follow your majesty. If this young per-
son should produce her letters for blackmailing or other
purposes, how is she to prove their authenticity?”
“There is the writing.”
“Pooh, pooh! Forgery.”
“My private note-paper.”
"Stolen.”
“My own seal.”
“Imitated.”
“My photograph." .
"Bought."
“We were both in the photograph."
“Oh, dear! That is very bad. Your majesty has indeed
committed an indiscretion.”
"I was mad-insane."
"You have compromised yourself seriously."
"I was only crown prince then. I was young. I am but
thirty now."
“It must be recovered.”
“We have tried and failed."
"Your majesty must pay. It must be bought."
“She will not sell.”
"Stolen, then."
"Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my
pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage
when she traveled. Twice she has been waylaid. There
has been no result.”
"No sign of it?”
“Absolutely none."
Holmes laughed. “It is quite a pretty little problem,"
said he.
“But a very serious one to me," returned the king, re-
proachfully.
“Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with
the photograph?”
245


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“To ruin me."
“But how?"
“I am about to be married.”
“So I have heard.”
“To Clotilde Lotham von Saxe-Meiningen, second daugh-
ter of the King of Scandinavia. You may know the strict
principles of her family. She is herself the very soul of
delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my conduct would
bring the matter to an end."
“And Irene Adler?”
“Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will
do it. I know that she will do it. You do not know her, but
she has a soul of steel. She has the face of the most beauti-
ful of women and the mind of the most resolute of men.
Rather than I should marry another woman, there are no
lengths to which she would not go-none."
“You are sure that she has not sent it yet?"
“I am sure.”
“And why?"
“Because she has said that she would send it on the day
when the betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be
next Monday."
“Oh, then we have three days yet,” said Holmes, with a
yawn. “That is very fortunate, as I have one or two matters
of importance to look into just at present. Your majesty
will, of course, stay in London for the present?”
“Certainly. You will find me at the Langham, under the
name of the Count von Kramm.”
“Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we
progress.”
“Pray do so; I shall be all anxiety.”
“Then, as to money?”
“You have carte blanche.”
“Absolutely?”
“I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my
kingdom to have that photograph.”
"And for present expenses ?”
The king took a heavy chamois leather bag from under
his cloak, and laid it on the table.
246


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
“There are three hundred pounds in gold, and seven
hundred in notes,” he said.
Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book,
and handed it to him.
"And mademoiselle's address?” he asked.
"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood.”
Holmes took a note of it. “One other question,” said he,
thoughtfully. “Was the photograph a cabinet?”
"It was.”
“Then, good-night, your majesty, and I trust that we
shall soon have some good news for you. And good-night,
Watson,” he added, as the wheels of the royal brougham
rolled down the street. "If you will be good enough to call
to-morrow afternoon, at three o'clock, I should like to chat
this little matter over with you.”
II
At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but
Holmes had not yet returned. The landlady informed
me that he had left the house shortly after eight o'clock
in the morning. I sat down beside the fire, however, with
the intention of awaiting him, however long he might
be. I was already deeply interested in his inquiry, for,
though it was surrounded by none of the grim and
strange features which were associated with the two crimes
which I have already recorded, still, the nature of the
case and the exalted station of his client gave it a char-
acter of its own. Indeed, apart from the nature of the
investigation which my friend had on hand, there was some-
thing in his masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen, in-
cisive reasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to study
his system of work, and to follow the quick, subtle methods
by which he disentangled the most inextricable mysteries.
So accustomed was I to his invariable success that the very
possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my head.
It was close upon four before the door opened, and a
drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with
an inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the
247


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
room. Accustomed as I was to my friend's amazing powers
in the use of disguises, I had to look three times before I
was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he vanished
into the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-
suited and respectable, as of old. Putting his hand into his
pockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the fire, and
laughed heartily for some minutes.
"Well, really!" he cried, and then he choked, and laughed
again until he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in
the chair.
“What is it?"
"It's quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess
how I employed my morning, or what I ended by doing."
"I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been watching
the habits, and, perhaps, the house of Miss Irene Adler."
“Quite so, but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell
you, however. I left the house a little after eight o'clock
this morning in the character of a groom out of work. There
is a wonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsy men.
Be one of them, and you will know all that there is to know.
I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a
garden at the back, but built out in front right up to the
road, two stories. Chubb lock to the door. Large sitting-
room on the right side, well furnished, with long windows
almost to the floor, and those preposterous English window-
fasteners which a child could open. Behind there was noth-
ing remarkable, save that the passage window could be
reached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round it
and examined it closely from every point of view, but with-
out noting anything else of interest.
"I then lounged down the street, and found, as I expected,
that there was a mews in a lane which runs down by one
wall of the garden. I lent the hostlers a hand in rubbing
down their horses, and I received in exchange twopence, a
glass of half-and-half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as much
information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say noth-
ing of half a dozen other people in the neighborhood, in
whom I was not in the least interested, but whose biog-
raphies I was compelled to listen to."
248


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
“And what of Irene Adler?” I asked.
“Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that
part. She is the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this
planet. So say the Serpentine Mews, to a man. She lives
quietly, sings at concerts, drives out at five every day, and
returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom goes out at other
times, except when she sings. Has only one male visitor,
but a good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and dash-
ing; never calls less than once a day, and often twice. He
is a Mr. Godfrey Norton of the Inner Temple. See the ad-
vantages of a cabman as a confidant. They had driven him
home a dozen times from Serpentine Mews, and knew all
about him. When I had listened to all that they had to tell,
I began to walk up and down near Briony Lodge once more,
and to think over my plan of campaign.
“This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor
in the matter. He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous.
What waš the relation between them, and what the object
of his repeated visits? Was she his client, his friend, or his
mistress? If the former, she had probably transferred the
photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less likely.
On the issue of this question depended whether I should
continue my work at Briony Lodge, or turn my attention to
the gentleman's chambers in the Temple. It was a delicate
point, and it widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that I
bore you with these details, but I have to let you see my
little difficulties, if you are to understand the situation.”
“I am following you closely," I answered.
"I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a
bansom cab drove up to Briony Lodge and a gentleman
sprang out. He was a remarkably handsome man, dark,
aquiline, and mustached-evidently the man of whom I had
heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the
cabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened
the door, with the air of a man who was thoroughly at home.
"He was in the house about half an hour, and I could
catch glimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room,
pacing up and down, talking excitedly and waving his arms.
Of her I could see nothing. Presently he emerged, looking
249


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
"I was half-dragged up to the altar, and, before I knew
where I was, I found myself mumbling responses which were
whispered in my ear, and vouching for things of which I
knew nothing, and generally assisting in the secure tying
up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. It
was all done in an instant, and there was the gentleman
thanking me on the one side and the lady on the other,
while the clergyman beamed on me in front. It was the
most preposterous position in which I ever found myself in
my life, and it was the thought of it that started me laugh-
ing just now. It seems that there had been some informality
about their license; that the clergyman absolutely refused to
marry them without a witness of some sort, and that my
lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally
out into the streets in search of a best man. The bride gave
me a sovereign, and I mean to wear it on my watch-chain in
memory of the occasion.”
“This is a very unexpected turn of affairs," said I; "and
what then?”
"Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It
looked as if the pair might take an immediate departure, and
so necessitate very prompt and energetic measures on my
part. At the church door, however, they separated, he driv-
ing back to the Temple, and she to her own house. 'I shall
drive out in the park at five as usual,' she said, as she left
him. I heard no more. They drove away in different direc-
tions, and I went off to make my own arrangements."
“Which are?”
"Some cold beef and a glass of beer,” he answered, ring-
ing the bell. “I have been too busy to think of food, and I
am likely to be busier still this evening. By the way, doc-
tor, I shall want your cooperation."
"I shall be delighted."
“You don't mind breaking the law?"
"Not in the least.”
"Nor running a chance of arrest?”
"Not in a good cause.”
“Oh, the cause is excellent!"
“Then I am your man.”
251


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
"I was sure that I might rely on you."
“But what is it you wish?"
“When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make
it clear to you. Now," he said, as he turned hungrily on
the simple fare that our landlady had provided, “I must
discuss it while I eat, for I have not much time. It is nearly
five now. In two hours we must be on the scene of action,
Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at
seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her."
“And what then?”
“You must leave that to me. I have already arranged
what is to occur. There is only one point on which I must
insist. You must not interfere, come what may. You
understand?"
“I am to be neutral ?"
“To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some
small unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my
being conveyed into the house. Four or five minutes after-
ward the sitting-room window will open. You are to station
yourself close to that open window."
“Yes."
"You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you."
“Yes.
“And when I raise my hand-50-you will throw into the
room what I give you to throw, and will, at the same time,
raise the cry of fire. You quite follow me?"
"Entirely."
“It is nothing very formidable,” he said, taking a long,
cigar-shaped roll from his pocket. “It is an ordinary plumb-
er's smoke-rocket, fitted with a cap at either end, to make it
self-lighting. Your task is confined to that. When you
raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up by quite a number of
people. You may then walk to the end of the street, and I
will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made
myself clear?”
“I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch
you, and, at the signal, to throw in this object, then to raise
the cry of fire, and to wait you at the corner of the street."
"Precisely.”
252


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
“Then you may entirely rely on me."
“That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that
I prepared for the new rôle I have to play."
He disappeared into his bedroom, and returned in a few
minutes in the character of an amiable and simple-minded
Nonconformist clergyman. His broad, black hat, his baggy
trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic smile, and general
look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such as Mr.
John Hare alone could have equaled. It was not merely
that Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his man-
ner, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that
he assumed. The stage lost a fine actor, even as science
lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in crime.
It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and
it still wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found
ourselves in Serpentine Avenue. It was already dusk, and
the lamps were just being lighted as we paced up and down
in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of its
occupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it
from Sherlock Holmes's succinct description, but the local-
ity appeared to be less private than I expected. On the con-
trary, for a small street in a quiet neighborhood, it was re-
markably animated. There was a group of shabbily dressed
men smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder
with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a
nurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who were
lounging up and down with cigars in their mouths.
"You see,” remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in
front of the house, “this marriage rather simplifies matters.
The photograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. The
chances are that she would be as averse to its being seen
by Mr. Godfrey Norton as our client is to its coming to
the eyes of his princess. Now the question is where are
we to find the photograph?”
"Where, indeed?”
"It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her.
It is cabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about a
woman's dress. She knows that the king is capable of hav-
ing her waylaid and searched. Two attempts of the sort
253


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
have already been made. We may take it, then, that she
does not carry it about with her.”
“Where, then?"
“Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possi-
bility. But I am inclined to think neither. Women are
naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting.
Why should she hand it over to any one else? She could
trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what in-
direct or political influence might be brought to bear upon a
business man. Besides, remember that she had resolved to
use it within a few days. It must be where she can lay her
hands upon it. It must be in her own house."
“But it has twice been burglarized.”
“Pshaw! They did not know how to look.”
“But how will you look?"
“I will not look.”
“What then?”
“I will get her to show me.”
“But she will refuse."
“She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels.
It is her carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter."
As he spoke, the gleam of the side-lights of a carriage
came round the curve of the avenue. It was a smart little
landau which rattled up to the door of Briony Lodge. As
it pulled up one of the loafing men at the corner dashed
forward to open the door in the hope of earning a copper,
but was elbowed away by another loafer who had rushed
up with the same intention. A fierce quarrel broke out
which was increased by the two guardsmen, who took sides
with one of the loungers, and by the scissors-grinder, who
was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was struck,
and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her car-
riage, was the centre of a little knot of struggling men who
struck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks.
Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but, just
as he reached her, he gave a cry and dropped to the ground,
with the blood running freely down his face. At his fall
the guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and the
loungers in the other, while a number of better dressed
254


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
joined in a general shriek of "Fire!" Thick clouds of smoke
curled through the room, and out at the open window. I
caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later the
voice of Holmes from within assuring them that it was a
false alarm. Slipping through the shouting crowd, I made
my way to the corner of the street, and in ten minutes was
rejoiced to find my friend's arm in mine, and to get away
from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly and in silence
for some few minutes, until we had turned down one of the
quiet streets which led toward the Edgware Road.
“You did it very nicely, doctor,” he remarked. "Nothing
could have been better. It is all right.”
“You have the photograph?”.
“I know where it is.”
“And how did you find out?"
"She showed me, as I told you that she would."
"I am still in the dark.”
“I do not wish to make a mystery," said he, laughing.
“The matter was perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that
every one in the street was an accomplice. They were all
engaged for the evening."
"I guessed as much.”
“Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red
paint in the palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down,
clapped my hand to my face, and became a piteous spectacle.
It is an old trick."
“That also I could fathom.”
“Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in.
What else could she do? And into her sitting-room, which
was the very room which I suspected. It lay between that
and her bedroom, and I was determined to see which. They
laid me on a couch, I motioned for air, they were compelled
to open the window, and you had your chance."
"How did that help you?”
"It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her
house is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing
which she values most. It is a perfectly overpowering im-
pulse, and I have more than once taken advantage of it.
In the case of the Darlington Substitution Scandal it was
256


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business.
A married woman grabs at her baby—an unmarried one
reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to me that
our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more precious
to her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to
secure it. The alarm of fire was admirably done. The
smoke and shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel.
She responded beautifully. The photograph is in a recess
behind a sliding panel just above the right bell-pull. She
was there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as she
half drew it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm,
she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room,
and I have not seen her since. I rose, and, making my ex-
cuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether to at-
tempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachman
had come in, and as he was watching me narrowly, it seemed
safer to wait. A little overprecipitance may ruin all."
"And now?" I asked.
“Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the
king to-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us.
We will be shown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady,
but it is probable that when she comes she may find neither
us nor the photograph. It might be a satisfaction to his
majesty to regain it with his own hands."
"And when will you call?"
“At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that
we shall have a clear field. Besides, we must be prompt,
for this marriage may mean a complete change in her life
and habits. I must wire to the king without delay."
We had reached Baker Street, and had stopped at the
door. He was searching his pockets for the key, when some
one passing said:
"Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes."
There were several people on the pavement at the time,
but the greeting appeared to come from a slim youth in
an ulster who had hurried by.
"I've heard that voice before," said Holmes, staring down
the dimly lighted street. “Now, I wonder who the deuce
that could have been?"
257


À SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
“I am Mr. Holmes," answered my companion, looking
at her with a questioning and rather startled gaze.
"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to
call. She left this morning, with her husband, by the 5:15
train from Charing Cross, for the Continent.”
“What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back white with
chagrin and surprise.
“Do you mean that she has left England?"
"Never to return."
"And the papers?” asked the king, hoarsely. “All is
lost!”
"We shall see.” He pushed past the servant, and rushed
into the drawing-room, followed by the king and myself.
The furniture was scattered about in every direction, with
dismantled shelves, and open drawers, as if the lady had
hurriedly ransacked them before her flight. Holmes rushed
at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and plung-
ing in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The
photograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening dress; the
letter was superscribed to "Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be
left till called for.” My friend tore it open, and we all three
read it together. It was dated at midnight of the preceding
night, and ran in this way:
"MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES-You really did it
very well. You took me in completely. Until after the
alarm of the fire, I had not a suspicion. But then, when
I found how I had betrayed myself, I began to think. I
had been warned against you months ago. I had been told
that if the king employed an agent, it would certainly be
you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all
this, you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even
after I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of
such a dear, kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have been
trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new
to me. I often take advantage of the freedom which it
gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran up-
stairs, got into my walking clothes, as I call them, and came
down just as you departed.
259


ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
"Well, I followed you to the door, and so made sure that
I was really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr.
Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you
good-night, and started for the Temple to see my husband.
“We both thought the best resource was flight, when
pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the
nest empty when you call to-morrow. As to the photograph,
your client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by a
better man than he. The king may do what he will with-
out hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I
keep it only to safeguard myself, and preserve a weapon
which will always secure me from any steps which he might
take in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care
to possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, very
truly yours,
"IRENE NORTON, nee ADLER.”
“What a woman-oh, what a woman!” cried the King of
Bohemia, when we had all three read this epistle. “Did I
not tell you how quick and resolute she was? Would she
not have made an admirable queen? Is it not a pity that
she was not on my level?”
"From what I have seen of the lady, she seems, indeed,
to be on a very different level to your majesty," said Holmes,
coldly. "I am sorry that I have not been able to bring your
majesty's business to a more successful conclusion."
“On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the king, "nothing
could be more successful. I know that her word is invio-
late. The photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire."
"I am glad to hear your majesty say so.”
"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what
way I can reward you. This ring—" He slipped an emerald
snake ring from his finger, and held it out upon the palm of
his hand.
“Your majesty has something which I should value even
more highly,” said Holmes.
“You have but to name it.”
“This photograph!"
The king stared at him in amazement.
260


A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
“Irene's photograph!” he cried. “Certainly, if you wish it.”
"I thank your majesty. Then there is no more to be done
in the matter. I have the honor to wish you a very good-
morning.” He bowed, and, turning away without observing
the hand which the king had stretched out to him, he set off
in my company for his chambers.
And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the
kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock
Holmes were beaten by a woman's wit. He used to make
merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard
him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or
when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the
honorable title of the woman.
261


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
BY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
33
33
Anna Katharine Green (Rohlfs), whose
name is firmly linked in the public mind
with “The Leavenworth Case,” is recognized
as the foremost American writer of detective
stories. Of these, Mrs. Rohlfs considers “The
Doctor, His Wife, and the Clock” her most
successful effort in the short story form. Ad.
ditional interest arises from the fact that the
scene is laid in those historic old buildings in
Lafayette Place opposite the Astor Library,
known as “the Colonnade Row,” in which
lived John Jacob Astor and other rich mer.
chants two generations ago.


܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀ ܀
THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
(MRS. CHARLES ROHLFS)
N the 17th of July, 1851, a tragedy of no little in-
terest occurred in one of the residences of the
Colonnade in Lafayette Place.
Mr. Hasbrouck, a well-known and highly re-
spected citizen, was attacked in his room by an unknown
assailant, and shot dead before assistance could reach him.
His murderer escaped, and the problem offered to the police
was, how to identify this person who, by some happy chance
or by the exercise of the most remarkable forethought, had
left no traces behind him, or any clue by which he could be
followed.
The affair was given to a young man, named Ebenezer
Gryce, to investigate, and the story, as he tells it, is this:
When, some time after midnight, I reached Lafayette
Place, I found the block lighted from end to end. Groups
of excited men and women peered from the open doorways,
and mingled their shadows with those of the huge pillars
which adorn the front of this picturesque block of dwellings.
The house in which the crime had been committed was
near the centre of the row, and, long before I reached it, I
had learned from more than one source that the alarm was
first given to the street by a woman's shriek, and secondly
by the shouts of an old man-servant who had appeared, in
a half-dressed condition, at the window of Mr. Hasbrouck's
room, crying, "Murder! murder!”
But when I had crossed the threshold, I was astonished at
the paucity of the facts to be gleaned from the inmates them-
selves. The old servitor, who was the first to talk, had only
this account of the crime to give.
The family, which consisted of Mr. Hasbrouck, his wife,
* Copyright, 1895, by Anna Katharine Rohlfs. All rights reserved.
(12)
Vol. 1.
265


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
below. But her uncertainty as to what lay hidden from her
by the darkness chained her feet to the floor, and there is
no knowing when she would have moved, if a carriage had
not at that moment passed down Astor Place, bringing with
it a sense of companionship which broke the spell that held
her, and gave her strength to light the gas, which was in
ready reach of her hand.
As the sudden blaze illuminated the room, revealing in a
burst the old familiar walls and well-known pieces of furni-
ture, she felt for a moment as if released from some heavy
nightmare and restored to the common experiences of life.
But in another instant her former dread returned, and she
found herself quaking at the prospect of passing around the
foot of the bed into that part of the room which was as yet
hidden from her eyes.
But the desperation which comes with great crises finally
drove her from her retreat; and, creeping slowly forward,
she cast one glance at the floor before her, when she found
her worst fears realized by the sight of the dead body of her
husband lying prone before the open doorway, with a bullet-
hole in his forehead.
Her first impulse was to shriek, but, by a powerful exer-
cise of will, she checked herself, and, ringing frantically for
the servants who slept on the top floor of the house, flew
to the nearest window and endeavored to open it. But the
shutters had been bolted so securely by Mr. Hasbrouck, in
his endeavor to shut out light and sound, that by the time
she had succeeded in unfastening them, all trace of the flying
murderer had vanished from the street.
Sick with grief and terror, she stepped back into the room
just as the three frightened servants descended the stairs.
As they appeared in the open doorway, she pointed at her
husband's inanimate form, and then, as if suddenly realizing
in its full force the calamity which had befallen her, she
threw up her arms, and sank forward to the floor in a dead
faint.
The two women rushed to her assistance, but the old but-
ler, bounding over the bed, sprang to the window, and
shrieked his alarm to the street.
267


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN •
In the interim that followed, Mrs. Hasbrouck was revived,
and the master's body laid decently on the bed; but no pur-
suit was made, nor any inquiries started likely to assist me
in establishing the identity of the assailant.
Indeed, every one, both in the house and out, seemed dazed
by the unexpected catastrophe, and as no one had any sus-
picions to offer as to the probable murderer, I had a difficult
task before me.
I began, in the usual way, by inspecting the scene of the
murder. I found nothing in the room, or in the condition of
the body itself, which added an iota to the knowledge al-
ready obtained. That Mr. Hasbrouck had been in bed; that
he had risen upon hearing a noise; and that he had been
shot before reaching the door, were self-evident facts. But
there was nothing to guide me further. The very simplicity
of the circumstances caused a dearth of clues, which made
the difficulty of procedure as great as any I ever encountered.
My search through the hall and down the stairs elicited
nothing; and an investigation of the bolts and bars by which
the house was secured, assured me that the assassin had
either entered by the front door, or had already been se-
creted in the house when it was locked up for the night.
“I shall have to trouble Mrs. Hasbrouck for a short inter-
view," I hereupon announced to the trembling old servitor,
who had followed me like a dog about the house.
He made no demur, and in a few minutes I was ushered
into the presence of the newly made widow, who sat quite
alone, in a large chamber in the rear. As I crossed the
threshold she looked up, and I encountered a good plain
face, without the shadow of guile in it.
"Madam,” said I, "I have not come to disturb you. I will
ask two or three questions only, and then leave you to your
grief. I am told that some words came from the assassin
before he delivered his fatal shot. Did you hear these dis-
tinctly enough to tell me what they were?”
"I was sound asleep," said she, "and dreamt, as I thought,
that a fierce, strange voice cried somewhere to some one:
'Ah! you did not expect me!' But I dare not say that these
words were really uttered to my husband, for he was not the
268


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
man to call forth hate, and only a man in the extremity of
passion could address such an exclamation in such a tone as
rings in my memory in connection with the fatal shot which
woke me.”
"But that shot was not the work of a friend,” I argued.
"If, as these words seem to prove, the assassin had some
other motive than gain in his assault, then your husband had
an enemy, though you never suspected it."
“Impossible!” was her steady reply, uttered in the most
convincing tone. “The man who shot him was a common
burglar, and, frightened at having been betrayed into mur-
der, fled without looking for booty. I am sure I heard him
cry out in terror and remorse: ‘God! what have I done!'”
“Was that before you left the side of the bed?"
“Yes; I did not move from my place till I heard the front
door close. I was paralyzed by my fear and dread."
"Are you in the habit of trusting to the security of a latch-
lock only in the fastening of your front door at night? I
am told that the big key was not in the lock, and that the
bolt at the bottom of the door was not drawn.”
“The bolt at the bottom of the door is never drawn. Mr.
Hasbrouck was so good a man he never mistrusted any one.
That is why the big lock was not fastened. The key, not
working well, he took it some days ago to the locksmith,
and when the latter failed to return it, he laughed, and said
he thought no one would ever think of meddling with his
front door."
"Is there more than one night-key to your house?” I now
asked..
She shook her head.
“And when did Mr. Hasbrouck last use his?"
“To-night, when he came home from prayer-meeting,"
she answered, and burst into tears.
Her grief was so real and her loss so recent that I hesi.
tated to afflict her by further questions. So returning to the
scene of the tragedy, I stepped out upon the balcony which
ran in front. Soft voices instantly struck my ears. The
neighbors on either side were grouped in front of their own
windows, and were exchanging the remarks natural under
269


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
the circumstances. I paused, as in duty bound, and listened.
But I heard nothing worth recording, and would have in-
stantly reentered the house, if I had not been impressed by
the appearance of a very graceful woman who stood at my
right. She was clinging to her husband, who was gazing at
one of the pillars before him in a strange, fixed way which
astonished me till he attempted to move, and then I saw
that he was blind. Instantly I remembered that there lived
in this row a blind doctor, equally celebrated for his skill
and for his uncommon personal attractions, and, greatly in-
terested not only in his affliction, but in the sympathy evinced
for him by his young and affectionate wife, I stood still till
I heard her say in the soft and appealing tones of love:
"Come in, Constant; you have heavy duties for to-mor-
row, and you should get a few hours' rest, if possible."
He came from the shadow of the pillar, and for one
minute I saw his face with the lamplight shining full upon
it. It was as regular of feature as a sculptured Adonis, and
it was as white.
"Sleep!” he repeated, in the measured tones of deep but
suppressed feeling. “Sleep! with murder on the other side
of the wall!” . And he stretched out his arms in a dazed
way that insensibly accentuated the horror I myself felt of
the crime which had so lately taken place in the room
behind me.
She, noting the movement, took one of the groping hands
in her own and drew him gently toward her.
"This way," she urged; and, guiding him into the house,
she closed the window and drew down the shades, making
the street seem darker by the loss of her exquisite presence.
This may seem a digression, but I was at the time a
young man of thirty, and much under the dominion of
woman's beauty. I was therefore slow in leaving the bal-
cony, and persistent in my wish to learn something of this
remarkable couple before leaving Mr. Hasbrouck's house.
The story told me was very simple. Dr. Zabriskie had
not been born blind, but had become so after a grievous ill-
ness which had stricken him down soon after he received
his diploma. Instead of succumbing to an affliction which
270


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
would have daunted most men, he expressed his intention
of practising his profession, and soon became so successful
in it that he found no difficulty in establishing himself in
one of the best paying quarters of the city. Indeed, his
intuition seemed to have developed in a remarkable degree
after his loss of sight, and he seldom, if ever, made a mistake
in diagnosis. Considering this fact, and the personal at-
tractions which gave him distinction, it was no wonder that
he soon became a popular physician whose presence was a
benefaction and whose word a law.
He had been engaged to be married at the time of his
illness, and, when he learned what was likely to be its results,
had offered to release the young lady from all obligation to
him. But she would not be released, and they were married.
This had taken place some five years previous to Mr. Has-
brouck's death, three of which had been spent by them in
Lafayette Place.
So much for the beautiful woman next door.
There being absolutely no clue to the assailant of Mr.
Hasbrouck, I naturally looked forward to the inquest for
some evidence upon which to work. But there seemed to be
no underlying facts to this tragedy. The most careful study
into the habits and conduct of the deceased brought nothing
to light save his general beneficence and rectitude, nor was
there in his history or in that of his wife any secret or hid-
den obligation calculated to provoke any such act of re-
venge as murder. Mrs. Hasbrouck's surmise that the in-
truder was simply a burglar, and that she had rather im-
agined than heard the words that pointed to the shooting
as a deed of vengeance, soon gained general credence. But,
though the police worked long and arduously in this new
direction, their efforts were without fruit, and the case bade
fair to remain an unsolvable mystery.
But the deeper the mystery the more persistently does
my mind cling to it, and some five months after the matter
had been delegated to oblivion, I found myself starting sud-
denly from sleep, with these words ringing in my ears:
“Who uttered the scream that gave the first alarm of Mr.
Hasbrouck's violent death?".
271


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
I was in such a state of excitement that the perspira-
tion stood out on my forehead. Mrs. Hasbrouck's story of
the occurrence returned to me, and I remembered as dis-
tinctly as if she were then speaking, that she had expressly
stated that she did not scream when confronted by the sight
of her husband's dead body. But some one had screamed,
and that very loudly. Who was it, then? One of the maids,
startled by the sudden summons from below, or some one
else-some involuntary witness of the crime, whose testi-
mony had been suppressed at the inquest, by fear or
influence?
The possibility of having come upon a clue even at this
late day, so fired my ambition, that I took the first opportu-
nity of revisiting Lafayette Place. Choosing such persons as
I thought most open to my questions, I learned that there
were many who could testify to having heard a woman's
shrill scream on that memorable night just prior to the
alarm given by old Cyrus, but no one who could tell from
whose lips it had come. One fact, however, was immediately
settled. It had not been the result of the servant-women's
fears. Both of the girls were positive that they had uttered
no sound, nor had they themselves heard any, till Cyrus
rushed to the window with his wild cries. As the scream,
by whomever given, was uttered before they descended the
stairs, I was convinced by these assurances that it had
issued from one of the front windows, and not from the
rear of the house, where their own rooms lay. Could it be
that it had sprung from the adjoining dwelling, and that-
My thoughts went no further, but I made up my mind to
visit the Doctor's house at once.
It took some courage to do this, for the Doctor's wife had
attended the inquest, and her beauty, seen in broad daylight,
had worn such an aspect of mingled sweetness and dignity,
that I hesitated to encounter it under any circumstances
likely to disturb its pure serenity. But a clue, once grasped,
can not be lightly set aside by a true detective, and it would
have taken more than a woman's frown to stop me at this
point. So I rang Dr. Zabriskie's bell.
I am seventy years old now and am no longer daunted
272


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
by the charms of a beautiful woman, but I confess that when
I found myself in the fine reception parlor on the first floor,
I experienced no little trepidation at the prospect of the
interview which awaited me.
But as soon as the fine commanding form of the Doctor's
wife crossed the threshold, I recovered my senses and sur-
veyed her with as direct a gaze as my position allowed. For
her aspect bespoke a degree of emotion that astonished me;
and even before I spoke I perceived her to be trembling,
though she was a woman of no little natural dignity and
self-possession.
"I seem to know your face," she said, advancing cour-
teously toward me, "but your name”-and here she glanced
at the card she held in her hand,"is totally unfamiliar
to me.”
“I think you saw me some eighteen months ago," said I.
“I am the detective who gave testimony at the inquest which
was held over the remains of Mr. Hasbrouck."
I had not meant to startle her, but at this introduction
of myself I saw her naturally pale cheek turn paler, and
her fine eyes, which had been fixed curiously upon me,
gradually sink to the floor.
“Great heaven!” thought I, “what is this I have stumbled
upon!”
"I do not understand what business you can have with
me,” she presently remarked, with a show of gentle indif-
ference that did not in the least deceive me.
"I do not wonder," I rejoined. “The crime which took
place next door is almost forgotten by the community, and
even if it were not, I am sure you would find it difficult to
conjecture the nature of the question I have to put to
you."
“I am surprised,” she began, rising in her involuntary
emotion and thereby compelling me to rise also. "How can
you have any question to ask me on this subject? Yet
if you have,” she continued, with a rapid change of manner
that touched my heart in spite of myself, “I shall, of course,
do my best to answer you."
There are women whose sweetest tones and most charm-
273


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
ing smiles only serve to awaken distrust in men of my call-
ing; but Mrs. Zabriskie was not of this number. Her face
was beautiful, but it was also candid in its expression, and
beneath the agitation which palpably disturbed her, I was
sure there lurked nothing either wicked or false. Yet I held
fast by the clue which I had grasped, as it were, in the dark,
and without knowing whither I was tending, much less
whither I was leading her, I proceeded to say:
“The question which I presume to put to you as the
next-door neighbor of Mr. Hasbrouck, is this: Who was the
woman who screamed out so loudly that the whole neigh-
borhood heard her on the night of that gentleman's assas-
sination?"
The gasp she gave answered my question in a way she
little realized, and, struck as I was by the impalpable links
that had led me to the threshold of this hitherto unsolvable
mystery, I was about to press my advantage and ask another
question, when she quickly started forward and laid her
hand on my lips.
Astonished, I looked at her inquiringly, but her head was
turned aside, and her eyes, fixed upon the door, showed the
greatest anxiety. Instantly I realized what she feared. Her
husband was entering the house, and she dreaded lest his
ears should catch a word of our conversation.
Not knowing what was in her mind, and unable to realize
the importance of the moment to her, I yet listened to the
advance of her blind husband with an almost painful interest.
Would he enter the room where we were, or would he pass
immediately to his office in the rear? She seemed to wonder
too, and almost held her breath as he neared the door,
paused, and stood in the open doorway, with his ear turned
toward us.
As for myself, I remained perfectly still, gazing at his
face in mingled surprise and apprehension. For besides its
beauty, which was of a marked order, as I have already
observed, it had a touching expression which irresistibly
aroused both pity and interest in the spectator. This may
have been the result of his affliction, or it may have sprung
from some deeper cause; but, whatever its source, this look
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THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
in his face produced a strong impression upon me and in-
terested me at once in his personality. Would he enter?
Or would he pass on? Her look of silent appeal showed
me in which direction her wishes lay, but while I answered
her glance by complete silence, I was conscious in some
indistinct way that the business I had undertaken would be
better furthered by his entrance.
The blind have been often said to possess a sixth sense
in place of the one they have lost. Though I am sure we
made no noise, I soon perceived that he was aware of our
presence. Stepping hastily forward, he said, in the high and
vibrating tone of restrained passion:
“Helen, are you here?”
For a moment I thought she did not mean to answer, but
knowing doubtless from experience the impossibility of de-
ceiving him, she answered with a cheerful assent, dropping
her hand as she did so from before my lips.
He heard the slight rustle which accompanied the move-
ment, and a look I found it hard to comprehend flashed
over his features, altering his expression so completely that
he seemed another man.
“You have some one with you,” he declared, advancing
another step but with none of the uncertainty which usually
accompanies the movements of the blind. “Some dear
friend," he went on, with an almost sarcastic emphasis and
a forced smile that had little of gaiety in it.
The agitated and distressed blush which answered him
could have but one interpretation. He suspected that her
hand had been clasped in mine, and she perceived his
thought and knew that I perceived it also.
Drawing herself up, she moved toward him, saying in a
sweet, womanly tone that to me spoke volumes:
“It is no friend, Constant, not even an acquaintance. The
person whom I now present to you is an agent from the
police. He is here upon a trivial errand which will be soon
finished, when I will join you in your office.”
I knew she was but taking a choice between two evils.
That she would have saved her husband the knowledge of a
· detective's presence in the house, if her self-respect would
275


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
have allowed it, but neither she nor I anticipated the effect
which this presentation produced upon him.
"A police officer,” he repeated, staring with his sightless
eyes, as if, in his eagerness to see, he half hoped his lost
sense would return. “He can have no trivial errand here;
he has been sent by God Himself to"
“Let me speak for you," hastily interposed his wife,
springing to his side and clasping his arm with a fervor that
was equally expressive of appeal and command. Then turn-
ing to me, she explained: “Since Mr. Hasbrouck's unaccount-
able death, my husband has been laboring under a halluci-
nation which I have only to mention for you to recognize
its perfect absurdity. He thinks-oh! do not look like that,
Constant; you know it is a hallucination which must vanish
the moment we drag it into broad daylight—that he-he, the
best man in all the world, was himself the assailant of Mr.
Hasbrouck."
Good God!
"I say nothing of the impossibility of this being so," she
went on in a fever of expostulation. “He is blind, and could
not have delivered such a shot even if he had desired to;
besides, he had no weapon. But the inconsistency of the
thing speaks for itself, and should assure him that his mind
is unbalanced and that he is merely suffering from a shock
that was greater than we realized. He is a physician and
has had many such instances in his own practise. Why, he
was very much attached to Mr. Hasbrouck! They were the
best of friends, and though he insists that he killed him, he
can not give any reason for the deed.”
At these words the Doctor's face grew stern, and he
spoke like an automatom repeating some fearful lesson.
“I killed him. I went to his room and deliberately shot
him. I had nothing against him, and my remorse is ex-
treme. Arrest me, and let me pay the penalty of my crime.
It is the only way in which I can obtain peace.”
Shocked beyond all power of self-control by this repeti-
tion of what she evidently considered the unhappy ravings
of a madman, she let go his arm and turned upon me in
frenzy.
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THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
“Convince him!” she cried. “Convince him by your ques-
tions that he never could have done this fearful thing."
I was laboring under great excitement myself, for I felt
my youth against me in a matter of such tragic consequence.
Besides, I agreed with her that he was in a distempered
state of mind, and I hardly knew how to deal with one so
fixed in his hallucination and with so much intelligence to
support it. But the emergency was great, for he was holding
out his wrists in the evident expectation of my taking him
into instant custody; and the sight was killing his wife, who
had sunk on the floor between us, in terror and anguish.
“You say you killed Mr. Hasbrouck," I began. “Where
did you get your pistol, and what did you do with it after
you left his house?”
"My husband had no pistol; never had any pistol," put in
Mrs. Zabriskie, with vehement assertion. "If I had seen him
with such a weapon-'
“I threw it away. When I left the house, I cast it as
far from me as possible, for I was frightened at what I had
done, horribly frightened.”
"No pistol was ever found,” I answered, with a smile, for-
getting for the moment that he could not see. "If such an
instrument had been found in the street after a murder of
such consequence it certainly would have been brought to
the police."
"You forget that a good pistol is valuable property,” he
went on stolidly. “Some one came along before the general
alarm was given; and seeing such a treasure lying on the
sidewalk, picked it up and carried it off. Not being an honest
man, he preferred to keep it to drawing the attention of the
police upon himself.”
“Hum, perhaps,” said I; “but where did you get it. Surely
you can tell where you procured such a weapon, if, as your
wife intimates, you did not own one."
"I bought it that self-same night of a friend; a friend
whom I will not name, since he resides no longer in this
country. I—" He paused; intense passion was in his face;
he turned toward his wife, and a low cry escaped him, which
made her look up in fear.
277


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
"I do not wish to go into any particulars," said he. “God
forsook me and I committed a horrible crime. When I am
punished, perhaps peace will return to me and happiness
to her. I would not wish her to suffer too long or too
bitterly for my sin.”
"Constant!" What love was in the cry! and what despair!
It seemed to move him and turn his thoughts for a moment
into a different channel.
"Poor child!” he murmured, stretching out his hands by
an irresistible impulse toward her. But the change was but
momentary, and he was soon again the stern and determined
self-accuser. “Are you going to take me before a magis-
trate?” he asked. “If so, I have a few duties to perform
which you are welcome to witness.”
"I have no warrant," I said; "besides, I am scarcely the
one to take such a responsibility upon myself. If, however,
you persist in your declaration, I will communicate with my
superiors, who will take such action as they think best.”
“That will be still more satisfactory to me," said he; "for
though I have many times contemplated giving myself up to
the authorities, I have still much to do before I can leave
my home and practise without injury to others. Good-day;
when you want me, you will find me here."
He was gone, and the poor young wife was left crouching
on the floor alone. Pitying her shame and terror, I ven-
tured to remark that it was not an uncommon thing for a
man to confess to a crime he had never committed, and
assured her that the matter would be inquired into very care-
fully before any attempt was made upon his liberty.
She thanked me, and, slowly rising, tried to regain her
equanimity; but the manner as well as the matter of her
husband's self-condemnation was too overwhelming in its
nature for her to recover readily from her emotions.
"I have long dreaded this,” she acknowledged. "For
months I have foreseen that he would make some rash com-
munication or insane avowal. If I had dared, I would have
consulted some physician about this hallucination of his;
but he was so sane on other points that I hesitated to give
my dreadful secret to the world. I kept hoping that time
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THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
and his daily pursuits would have their effect and restore
him to himself. But his illusion grows, and now I fear that
nothing will ever convince him that he did not commit the
deed of which he accuses himself. If he were not blind I
would have more hope, but the blind have so much time for
brooding."
“I think he had better be indulged in his fancies for the
present,” I ventured. “If he is laboring under an illusion
it might be dangerous to cross him.”
“If y" she echoed in an indescribable tone of amazement
and dread. “Can you for a moment harbor the idea that he
has spoken the truth?”
“Madam," I returned, with something of the cynism of
my later years, "what caused you to give such an unearthly
scream just before this murder was made known to the
neighborhood?"
She stared, paled, and finally began to tremble, not, as I
now believe, at the insinuation latent in my words, but at the
doubts which my question aroused in her own breast.
"Did I?" she asked; then with a great burst of candor,
which seemed inseparable from her nature, she continued:
“Why do I try to mislead you or deceive myself? I did give
a shriek just before the alarm was raised next door; but it
was not from any knowledge I had of a crime having been
committed, but because I unexpectedly saw before me my
husband whom I supposed to be on his way to Poughkeep-
sie. He was looking very pale and strange, and for a mo-
ment I thought I was beholding his ghost. But he soon ex-
plained his appearance by saying that he had fallen from
the train and had been only saved by a miracle from being
dismembered; and I was just bemoaning his mishap and
trying to calm him and myself, when that terrible shout was
heard next door of 'Murder! murder! Coming so soon after
the shock he had himself experienced, it quite unnerved him,
and I think we can date his mental disturbance from that
moment. For he began almost immediately to take a morbid
interest in the affair next door, though it was weeks, if not
months, before he let a word fall of the nature of those you
have just heard. Indeed it was not till I repeated to him
279


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
some of the expressions he was continually letting fall in
his sleep, that he commenced to accuse himself of crime and
talk of retribution.”
"You say that your husband frightened you on that
night by appearing suddenly at the door when you thought
him on his way to Poughkeepsie. Is Dr. Zabriskie in the
habit of thus going and coming alone at an hour so late as
this must have been?”
"You forget that to the blind, night is less full of perils
than the day. Often and often has my husband found his
way to his patients' houses alone after midnight; but on this
especial evening he had Harry with him. Harry was his
driver, and always accompanied him when he went any dis-
tance."
"Well, then,” said I, "all we have to do is to summon
Harry and hear what he has to say concerning this affair.
He surely will know whether or not his master went into the
house next door."
“Harry has left us,” she said. "Dr. Zabriskie has another
driver now. Besides,(I have nothing to conceal from you)
-Harry was not with him when he returned to the house
that evening, or the Doctor would not have been without
his portmanteau till the next day. Something—I have never
known what-caused them to separate, and that is why I
have no answer to give the Doctor when he accuses himself
of committing a deed on that night which is wholly out of
keeping with every other act of his life.”
“And have you never questioned Harry why they sep-
arated and why he allowed his master to come home alone
after the shock he had received at the station?”
"I did not know there was any reason for doing so till
long after he left us."
“And when did he leave?”
“That I do not remember. A few weeks, or possibly a
few days, after that dreadful night."
“And where is he now?”.
"Ah, that I have not the least means of knowing. But,"
she suddenly cried, "what do you want of Harry? If he did
not follow Dr. Zabriskie to his own door, he could tell us
280


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
nothing that would convince my husband that he is laboring
under an illusion."
“But he might tell us something which would convince
us that Dr. Zabriskie was not himself after the accident,
that he"
“Hush !" came from her lips in imperious tones. “I will
not believe that he shot Mr. Hasbrouck even if you prove
him to have been insane at the time. How could he? My
husband is blind. It would take a man of very keen sight to
force himself into a house that was closed for the night, and
kill a man in the dark at one shot."
"Rather,” cried a voice from the doorway, “it is only a
blind man who could do this. Those who trust to eyesight
must be able to catch some glimpse of the mark they aim at,
and this room, as I have been told, was without a glimmer
of light. But the blind trust to sound, and as Mr. Hasbrouck
spoke"
“Oh!" burst from the horrified wife, “is there no one to
stop him when he speaks like that?"
II
WHEN I related to my superiors the details of the fore-
going interview, two of them coincided with the wife in
thinking that Dr. Zabriskie was in an irresponsible condi-
tion of mind which made any statement of his questionable.
But the third seemed disposed to argue the matter, and, cast-
ing me an inquiring look, seemed to ask what my opinion was
on the subject. Answering him as if he had spoken, I gave
my conclusion as follows: That whether insane or not,
Dr. Zabriskie had fired the shot which terminated Mr. Has-
brouck's life.
It was the Inspector's own idea, but it was not-shared in
by the others, one of whom had known the Doctor for years.
Accordingly they compromised by postponing all opinion till
they had themselves interrogated the Doctor, and I was de-
tailed to bring him before them the next afternoon.
He came without reluctance, his wife accompanying him.
In the short time which elapsed between their leaving Lafay-
281


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
ette Place and entering Headquarters, I embraced the oppor-
tunity of observing them, and I found the study equally
exciting and interesting. His face was calm but hopeless,
and his eye, which should have shown a wild glimmer if
there was truth in his wife's hypothesis, was dark and un-
fathomable, but neither frenzied nor uncertain. He spake
but once and listened to nothing, though now and then his
wife moved as if to attract his attention, and once even stole
her hand toward his, in the tender hope that he would feel
its approach and accept her sympathy. But he was deaf as
well as blind; and sat wrapped up in thoughts which she, I
know, would have given worlds to penetrate.
Her countenance was not without its mystery also. She
showed in every lineament passionate concern and misery,
and a deep tenderness from which the element of fear was
not absent. But she, as well as he, betrayed that some mis-
understanding, deeper than any I had previously suspected,
drew its intangible veil between them and made the near prox-
imity in which they sat, at once a heart-piercing delight and
an unspeakable pain. What was this misunderstanding? and
what was the character of the fear that modified her every
look of love in his direction? Her perfect indifference to my
presence proved that it was not connected with the position
in which he had put himself toward the police by his volun-
tary confession of crime, nor could I thus interpret the ex-
pression of frantic question which now and then contracted
her features, as she raised her eyes toward his sightless orbs,
and strove to read, in his firm-set lips, the meaning of those
assertions she could only ascribe to a loss of reason.
The stopping of the carriage seemed to awaken both from
thoughts that separated rather than united them. He turned
his face in her direction, and she, stretching forth her hand,
prepared to lead him from the carriage, without any of that
display of timidity which had been previously evident in her
manner.
As his guide she seemed to fear nothing; as his lover,
everything.
“There is another and a deeper tragedy underlying the
outward and obvious one," was my inward conclusion, as I
282


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
followed them into the presence of the gentlemen awaiting
them.
Dr. Zabriskie's appearance was a shock to those who
knew him; so was his manner, which was calm, straightfor-
ward, and quietly determined.
"I shot Mr. Hasbrouck," was his steady affirmation, given
without any show of frenzy or desperation. "If you ask me
why I did it, I can not answer; if you ask me how, I am
ready to state all that I know concerning the matter."
"But, Dr. Zabriskie,” interposed his friend, “the why is
the most important thing for us to consider just now. If
you really desire to convince us that you committed the
dreadful crime of killing a totally inoffensive man, you should
give us some reason for an act so opposed to all your in-
stincts and general conduct.”
But the Doctor continued unmoved:
“I had no reason for murdering Mr. Hasbrouck. A hun-
dred questions can elicit no other reply; you had better keep
to the how.”
A deep-drawn breath from the wife answered the looks
of the three gentlemen to whom this suggestion was offered.
"You see,” that breath seemed to protest, "that he is not in
his right mind.”
I began to waver in my own opinion, and yet the intuition
which has served me in cases as seemingly impenetrable as
this bade me beware of following the general judgment.
"Ask him to inform you how he got into the house," I
whispered to Inspector D- who sat nearest me.
Immediately the Inspector put the question I had sug-
gested:
"By what means did you enter Mr. Hasbrouck's house at
so late an hour as this murder occurred?"
The blind doctor's head fell forward on his breast, and
he hesitated for the first and only time..
"You will not believe me," said he; "but the door was ajar
when I came to it. Such things make crime easy; it is the
only excuse I have to offer for this dreadful deed.”
The front door of a respectable citizen's house ajar at
283


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
half-past eleven at night. It was a statement that fixed in
all minds the conviction of the speaker's irresponsibility.
Mrs. Zabriskie's brow cleared, and her beauty became for a
moment dazzling as she held out her hands in irrepressible
relief toward those who were interrogating her husband. I
alone kept my impassibility. A possible explanation of this
crime had flashed like lightning across my mind; an explana-
tion from which I inwardly recoiled, even while I was forced
to consider it.
“Dr. Zabriskie,” remarked the Inspector who was most
friendly to him, "such old servants as those kept by Mr.
Hasbrouck do not leave the front door ajar at twelve o'clock
at night."
“Yet ajar it was,” repeated the blind doctor, with quiet
emphasis; "and finding it so, I went in. When I came out
again, I closed it. Do you wish me to swear to what I say?
If so, I am ready."
What could we reply? To see this splendid-looking
man, hallowed by an affliction so great that in itself it called
forth the compassion of the most indifferent, accusing him-
self of a cold blooded crime, in tones that sounded dispas-
sionate because of the will that forced their utterance, was
too painful in itself for us to indulge in any unnecessary
words. Compassion took the place of curiosity, and each and
all of us turned involuntary looks of pity upon the young
wife pressing so eagerly to his side.
“For a blind man," ventured one, “the assault was both
deft and certain. Are you accustomed to Mr. Hasbrouck's
house, that you found your way with so little difficulty to
his bedroom?"
"I am accustomed—” he began.
But here his wife broke in with irrepressible passion:
"He is not accustomed to that house. He has never been
beyond the first floor. Why, why do you question him? Do
you not see”.
His hand was on her lips.
"Hush!” he commanded. “You know my skill in moving
about a house; how I sometimes deceive those who do not
know me into believing that I can see, by the readiness with
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THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
which I avoid obstacles and find my way even in strange
and untried scenes. Do not try to make them think I am
not in my right mind, or you will drive me into the very
condition you deprecate.”
His face, rigid, cold, and set, looked like that of a mask.
Hers, drawn with horror and filled with question that was
fast taking the form of doubt, bespoke an awful tragedy from
which more than one of us recoiled.
“Can you shoot a man dead without seeing him?" asked
the Superintendent, with painful effort.
"Give me a pistol and I will show you," was the quick
reply.
A low cry came from the wife. In a drawer near to every
one of us there lay a pistol, but no one moved to take it out.
There was a look in the Doctor's eye which made us fear to
trust him with a pistol just then.
“We will accept your assurance that you possess a skill
beyond that of most men,” returned the Superintendent.
And beckoning me forward, he whispered: “This is a case
for the doctors and not for the police. Remove him quietly,
and notify Dr. Southyard of what I say."
But Dr. Zabriskie, who seemed to have an almost super-
natural acuteness of hearing, gave a violent start at this and
spoke up for the first time with real passion in his voice:
"No, no, I pray you. I can bear anything but that. Re-
member, gentlemen, that I am blind; that I can not see who
is about me; that my life would be a torture if I felt myself
surrounded by spies watching to catch some evidence of
madness in me. Rather conviction at once, death, dishonor,
and obloquy. These I have incurred. These I have brought
upon myself by crime, but not this worse fate-oh! not this
worse fate."
His passion was so intense and yet so confined within the
bounds of decorum that we felt strangely impressed by it.
Only the wife stood transfixed, with the dread growing in
her heart, till her white, waxen visage seemed even more
terrible to contemplate than his passion-distorted one.
“It is not strange that my wife thinks me demented,” the
Doctor continued, as if afraid of the silence that answered
285


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
him. “But it is your business to discriminate, and you should
know a sane man when you see him."
Inspector
D n o longer hesitated.
“Very well,” said he, "give us the least proof that your
assertions are true, and we will lay your case before the
prosecuting attorney."
“Proof? Is not a man's word"
“No man's confession is worth much without some evi-
dence to support it. In your case there is none. You can
not even produce the pistol with which you assert yourself
to have committed the deed.”
“True, true. I was frightened by what I had done, and
the instinct of self-preservation led me to rid myself of the
weapon in any way I could. But some one found this pistol;
some one picked it up from the sidewalk of Lafayette Place
on that fatal night. Advertise for it. Offer a reward. I
will give you the money.” Suddenly he appeared to realize
how all this sounded. “Alas!” cried he, “I know the story
seems improbable; all I say seems improbable; but it is not
the probable things that happen in this life, but the improba-
ble, as you should know, who every day dig deep into the
heart of human affairs."
Were these the ravings of insanity? I began to under-
stand the wife's terror.
“I bought the pistol,” he went on, "of-alas! I can not
tell you his name. Everything is against me. I can not
adduce one proof; yet she, even she, is beginning to fear that
my story is true. I know it by her silence, a silence that
yawns between us like a deep and unfathomable gulf."
But at these words her voice rang out with passionate
vehemence.
“No, no, it is false! I will never believe that your hands
have been plunged in blood. You are my own pure-hearted
Constant, cold, perhaps, and stern, but with no guilt upon
your conscience, save in your own wild imagination."
“Helen, you are no friend to me," he declared, pushing her
gently aside. "Believe me innocent, but say nothing to lead
these others to doubt my word.”
And she said no more, but her looks spoke volumes.
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THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
The result was that he was not detained, though he prayed
for instant commitment. He seemed to dread his own home,
and the surveillance to which he instinctively knew he would
henceforth be subjected. To see him shrink from his wife's
hand as she strove to lead him from the room was suffi-
ciently painful; but the feeling thus aroused was nothing to
that with which we observed the keen and agonized expect-
ancy of his look as he turned and listened for the steps of
the officer who followed him.
“I shall never again know whether or not I am alone,”
was his final observation as he left our presence.
I said nothing to my superiors of the thoughts I had had
while listening to the above interrogatories. A theory had
presented itself to my mind which explained in some meas-
ure the mysteries of the Doctor's conduct, but I wished for
time and opportunity to test its reasonableness before sub-
mitting it to their higher judgment. And these seemed
likely to be given me, for the Inspectors continued divided
in their opinion of the blind physician's guilt, and the Dis-
trict-Attorney, when told of the affair, pooh-poohed it with-
out mercy, and declined to stir in the matter unless some
tangible evidence were forthcoming to substantiate the poor
Doctor's self-accusations.
“If guilty, why does he shrink from giving his motives,"
said he, "and if so anxious to go to the gallows, why does
he suppress the very facts calculated to send him there? He
is as mad as a March hare, and it is to an asylum he should
go and not to a jail.”
In this conclusion I failed to agree with him, and as time
wore on my suspicions took shape and finally ended in a
fixed conviction. Dr. Zabriskie had committed the crime he
avowed, but let me proceed a little further with my story
before I reveal what lies beyond that "but."
Notwithstanding Dr. Zabriskie's almost frenzied appeal
for solitude, a man had been placed in surveillance over him
in the shape of a young doctor skilled in diseases of the
brain. This man communicated more or less with the police,
287


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
and one morning I received from him the following extracts
from the diary he had been ordered to keep:
"The Doctor is settling into a deep melancholy from
which he tries to rise at times, but with only in different
success. Yesterday he rode around to all his patients for
the purpose of withdrawing his services on the plea of ill-
ness. But he still keeps his office open, and to-day I had
the opportunity of witnessing his reception and treatment
of the many sufferers who came to him for aid. I think he
was conscious of my presence, though an attempt had been
made to conceal it. For the listening look never left his face
from the moment he entered the room, and once he rose and
passed quickly from wall to wall, groping with outstretched
hands into every nook and corner, and barely escaping con-
tact with the curtain behind which I was hidden. But if he
suspected my presence, he showed no displeasure at it, wish-
ing perhaps for a witness to his skill in the treatment of
disease.
“And truly I never beheld a finer manifestation of prac-
tical insight in cases of a more or less baffling nature than
I beheld in him to-day. He is certainly a most wonderful
physician, and I feel bound to record that his mind is as
clear for business as if no shadow had fallen upon it.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
“Dr. Zabriskie loves his wife, but in a way that tortures
both himself and her. If she is gone from the house he is
wretched, and yet when she returns he often forbears to
speak to her, or if he does speak, it is with a constraint that
hurts her more than his silence. I was present when she
came in to-day. Her step, which had been eager on the
stairway, flagged as she approached the room, and he natu-
rally noted the change and gave his own interpretation to
it. His face, which had been very pale, flushed suddenly,
and a nervous trembling seized him which he sought in vain
to hide. But by the time her tall and beautiful figure stood
in the doorway he was his usual self again in all but the
expression of his eyes, which stared straight before him in
288


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
an agony of longing only to be observed in those who have
once seen.
“ 'Where have you been, Helen?' he asked, as, contrary
to his wont, he moved to meet her.
“'To my mother's, to Arnold & Constable's, and to the
hospital, as you requested,' was her quick answer, made
without faltering or embarrassment.
"He stepped still nearer and took her hand, and as he
did so my physician's eye noted how his finger lay over
her pulse in seeming unconsciousness.
“ 'Nowhere else?' he queried.
“She smiled the saddest kind of smile and shook her
head; then, remembering that he could not see this move-
ment, she cried in a wistful tone:
“'Nowhere else, Constant; I was too anxious to get back.'
“I expected him to drop her hand at this, but he did not;
and his finger still rested on her pulse.
. “And whom did you see while you were gone?' he con-
tinued.
"She told him, naming over several names.
“'You must have enjoyed yourself,' was his cold com-
ment, as he let go her hand and turned away. But his
manner showed relief, and I could not but sympathize with
the pitiable situation of a man who found himself forced
to means like these for probing the heart of his young wife.
"Yet when I turned toward her I realized that her posi-
tion was but little happier than his. Tears are no strangers
to her eyes, but those that welled up at this moment seemed
to possess a bitterness that promised but little peace for her
future. Yet she quickly dried them and busied herself with
ministrations for his comfort.
“If I am any judge of woman, Helen Zabriskie is supe.
rior to most of her sex. That her husband mistrusts her is
evident, but whether this is the result of the stand she has
taken in his regard, or only a manifestation of dementia, I
have as yet been unable to determine. I dread to leave them
alone together, and yet when I presume to suggest that she
(13)
Vol. 1
289


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
should be on her guard in her interviews with him, she
smiles very placidly and tells me that nothing would give
her greater joy than to see him lift his hand against her,
for that would argue that he is not accountable for his
deeds or for his assertions.
“Yet it would be a grief to see her injured by this pas-
sionate and unhappy man.
“You have said that you wanted all details I could give;
so I feel bound to say that Dr. Zabriskie tries to be con-
siderate of his wife, though he often fails in the attempt.
When she offers herself as his guide, or assists him with
his mail, or performs any of the many acts of kindness by
which she continually manifests her sense of his affliction,
he thanks her with courtesy and often with kindness, yet I
know she would willingly exchange all his set phrases for
one fond embrace or impulsive smile of affection. That he
is not in the full possession of his faculties would be too
much to say, and yet upon what other hypothesis can we
account for the inconsistencies of his conduct?
“I have before me two visions of mental suffering. At
noon I passed the office door, and looking within, saw the
figure of Dr. Zabriskie seated in his great chair, lost in
thought or deep in those memories which make an abyss in
one's consciousness. His hands, which were clenched, rested
upon the arms of his chair, and in one of them I detected a
woman's glove, which I had no difficulty in recognizing as
one of the pair worn by his wife this morning. He held it
as a tiger might hold his prey or a miser his gold, but his
set features and sightless eyes betrayed that a conflict of
emotions was waging within him, among which tenderness
had but little share.
“Though alive, as he usually is, to every sound, he was
too absorbed at this moment to notice my presence, though
I had taken no pains to approach quietly. I therefore stood
for a full minute watching him, till an irresistible sense of
the shame of thus spying upon a blind man in his moments
290


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
of secret anguish seized upon me and I turned away. But
not before I saw his features relax in a storm of passionate
feeling, as he rained kisses after kisses on the senseless kid
he had so long held in his motionless grasp. Yet when an
hour later he entered the dining-room on his wife's arm,
there was nothing in his manner to show that he had in
any way changed in his attitude toward her.
“The other picture was more tragic still. I have no busi.
ness with Mrs. Zabriskie's affairs; but as I passed upstairs
to my room an hour ago, I caught a fleeting vision of her
tall form, with the arms thrown up over her head in a
paroxysm of feeling which made her as oblivious to my
presence as her husband had been several hours before.
Were the words that escaped her lips, 'Thank God we have
no children!' or was this exclamation suggested to me by
the passion and unrestrained impulse of her action?”
Side by side with these lines, I, Ebenezer Gryce, placed
the following extracts from my own diary:
"Watched the Zabriskie mansion for five hours this morn-
ing, from the second story window of an adjoining hotel.
Saw the Doctor when he drove away on his round of visits,
and saw him when he returned. A colored man accompanied
him.
"To-day I followed Mrs. Zabriskie. I had a motive for
this, the nature of which I think it wisest not to divulge. She
went first to a house in Washington Place where I am told
her mother lives. Here she stayed some time, after which
she drove down to Canal Street, where she did some shop-
ping, and later stopped at the hospital, into which I took
the liberty of following her. She seemed to know many
there, and passed from cot to cot with a smile in which I
alone discerned the sadness of a broken heart. When she
left, I left also, without having learned anything beyond the
fact that Mrs. Zabriskie is one who does her duty in sorrow
291


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
my post for several hours, but I consider the game well
worth the candle.
"Light at last. I have seen Harry, and, by means known
only to the police, have succeeded in making him talk. His
story is substantially this: That on the night so often men-
tioned, he packed his master's portmanteau at eight o'clock
and at ten called a carriage and rode with the Doctor to the
Twenty-ninth Street station. He was told to buy tickets
for Poughkeepsie, where his master had been called in con-
sultation, and having done this, hurried back to join his
master on the platform. They had walked together as far
as the cars, and Dr. Zabriskie was just stepping on to the
train when a man pushed himself hurriedly between them
and whispered something into his master's ear, which caused
him to fall back and lose his footing. Dr. Zabriskie's body
slid half under the car, but he was withdrawn before any
harm was done, though the cars gave a lurch at that moment
which must have frightened him exceedingly, for his face
was white when he rose to his feet, and when Harry offered
to assist him again on to the train, he refused to go and
said he would return home and not attempt to ride to Pough-
keepsie that night.
“The gentleman, whom Harry now saw to be Mr. Stan-
ton, an intimate friend of Dr. Zabriskie, smiled very queerly
at this, and taking the Doctor's arm led him away to a car-
riage. Harry naturally followed them, but the Doctor, hear-
ing his steps, turned and bade him, in a very peremptory
tone, to take the omnibus home, and then, as if on second
thought, told him to go to Poughkeepsie in his stead and
explain to the people there that he was too shaken up by
his misstep to do his duty, and that he would be with them
next morning. This seemed strange to Harry, but he had no
reasons for disobeying his master's orders, and so rode to
Poughkeepsie. But the Doctor did not follow him the next
day; on the contrary, he telegraphed for him to return, and
when he got back dismissed him with a month's wages.
This ended Harry's connection with the Zabriskie family.
"A simple story bearing out what the wife has already
293


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
told us; but it furnishes a link which may prove invaluable.
Mr. Stanton, whose first name is Theodore, knows the real
reason why Dr. Zabriskie returned home on the night of the
seventeenth of July, 1851. Mr. Stanton, consequently, I
must see, and this shall be my business to-morrow.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
"Checkmate! Theodore Stanton is not in this country.
Though this points him out as the man from whom Dr.
Zabriskie bought the pistol, it does not facilitate my work,
which is becoming more and more difficult.
"Mr. Stanton's whereabouts are not even known to his
most intimate friends. He sailed from this country most
unexpectedly on the eighteenth of July a year ago, which
was the day after the murder of Mr. Hasbrouck. It looks
like a flight, especially as he has failed to maintain open
communication even with his relatives. Was he the man
who shot Mr. Hasbrouck? No; but he was the man who
put the pistol in Dr. Zabriskie's hand that night, and,
whether he did this with purpose or not, was evidently so
alarmed at the catastrophe which followed that he took the
first outgoing steamer to Europe. So far, all is clear, but
there are mysteries yet to be solved, which will require my
utmost tact. What if I should seek out the gentleman with
whose name that of Mrs. Zabriskie has been linked, and see
if I can in any way connect him with Mr. Stanton or the
events of that night?
"Eureka! I have discovered that Mr. Stanton cherished
a mortal hatred for the gentleman above mentioned. It was
a covert feeling, but no less deadly on that account; and
while it never led him into any extravagances, it was of
force sufficient to account for many a secret misfortune
which happened to that gentleman. Now, if I can prove he
was the Mephistopheles who whispered insinuations into the
ear of our blind Faust, I may strike a fact that will lead me
out of this maze.
“But how can I approach secrets so delicate without com-
294


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
promising the woman I feel bound to respect, if only for the
devoted love she manifests for her unhappy husband!
“I shall have to appeal to Joe Smithers. This is some-
thing which I always hate to do, but as long as he will take
money, and as long as he is fertile in resources for ob-
taining the truth from people I am myself unable to reach,
so long must I make use of his cupidity and his genius.
He is an honorable fellow in one way, and never retails
as gossip what he acquires for our use. How will he
proceed in this case, and by what tactics will be gain the
very delicate information which we need? I own that I am
curious to see.
"I shall really have to put down at length the incidents
of this night. I always knew that Joe Smithers was in-
valuable to the police, but I really did not know he possessed
talents of so high an order. He wrote me this morning that
he had succeeded in getting Mr. T— 's promise to spend
the evening with him, and advised me that if I desired to
be present also, his own servant would not be at home, and
that an opener of bottles would be required.
"As I was very anxious to see Mr. T— with my own
eyes, I accepted the invitation to play the spy upon a spy,
and went at the proper hour to Mr. Smithers's rooms, which
are in the University Building. I found them picturesque in
the extreme. Piles of books stacked here and there to the
ceiling made nooks and corners which could be quite shut
off by a couple of old pictures that were set into movable
frames that swung out or in at the whim or convenience
of the owner.
"As I liked the dark shadows cast by these pictures, I
pulled them both out, and made such other arrangements
as appeared likely to facilitate the purpose I had in view;
then I sat down and waited for the two gentlemen who
were expected to come in together.
“They arrived almost immediately, whereupon I rose and
played my part with all necessary discretion. While ridding
295


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
Mr. T- of his overcoat, I stole a look at his face. It is
not a handsome one, but it boasts of a gay, devil-may-care
expression which doubtless makes it dangerous to many
women, while his manners are especially attractive, and his
voice the richest and most persuasive that I ever heard. I
contrasted him, almost against my will, with Dr. Zabriskie,
and decided that with most women the former's undoubted
fascinations of speech and bearing would outweigh the lat-
ter's great beauty and mental endowments; but I doubted
if they would with her.
“The conversation which immediately began was brilliant
but desultory, for Mr. Smithers, with an airy lightness for
which he is remarkable, introduced topic after topic, per-
haps for the purpose of showing off Mr. T- 's versatility,
and perhaps for the deeper and more sinister purpose of
shaking the kaleidoscope of talk so thoroughly, that the real
topic which we were met to discuss should not make an
undue impression on the mind of his guest.
“Meanwhile one, two, three bottles passed, and I saw
Joe Smithers's eye grow calmer and that of Mr. T- more
brilliant and more uncertain. As the last bottle showed
signs of failing, Joe cast me a meaning glance, and the real
business of the evening began.
"I shall not attempt to relate the half-dozen failures
which Joe made in endeavoring to elicit the facts we were
in search of, without arousing the suspicion of his visitor.
I am only going to relate the successful attempt. They had
been talking now for some hours, and I, who had long before
been waved from their immediate presence, was hiding my
curiosity and growing excitement behind one of the pictures,
when suddenly I heard Joe say:
“'He has the most remarkable memory I ever met. He
can tell to a day when any notable event occurred.
“'Pshaw!' answered his companion, who, by the by, was
known to pride himself upon his own memory for dates, 'I
can state where I went and what I did on every day in the
year. That may not embrace what you call “notable events,"
but the memory required is all the more remarkable, is it
not?
296


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
“ 'I don't think places are necessary either,' he returned.
'I will tell you what I did and that must serve you. I did
not promise to give number and street.'
“'Well, well,' Joe exclaimed; 'earn your fifty, that is all.
Show that you remember where you were on the night of-
and with an admirable show of indifference he pretended to
consult the paper between them—'the seventeenth of July,
1851, and I shall be satisfied.' .
“I was at the club for one thing,' said Mr. T- ; 'then I
went to see a lady friend, where I stayed till eleven. She
wore a blue muslin-What is that?'
“I had betrayed myself by a quick movement which sent
a glass tumbler crashing to the floor. Helen Zabriskie had
worn a blue muslin on that same night. I had noted it
when I stood on the balcony watching her and her husband.
“'That noise?' It was Joe who was speaking. 'You don't
know Reuben as well as I do or you wouldn't ask. It is his
practise, I am sorry to say, to accentuate his pleasure in
draining my bottles, by dropping a glass at every third one.'
“Mr.
T went on.
“ 'She was a married woman and I thought she loved
me; but-and this is the greatest proof I can offer you that
I am giving you a true account of that night-she had not
had the slightest idea of the extent of my passion, and only
consented to see me at all because she thought, poor thing,
that a word from her would set me straight, and rid her of
attentions that were fast becoming obnoxious. A sorry fig-
urė for a fellow to cut who has not been without his
triumphs; but you caught me on the most detestable date in
my calendar, and
“There is where he stopped being interesting, so I will
not waste time by quoting further. And now what reply
shall I make when Joe Smithers asks me double his usual
price, as he will be sure to do, next time? Has he not
earned an advance? I really think so.
"I have spent the whole day in weaving together the facts
I have gleaned, and the suspicions I have formed, into a con-
secutive whole likely to present my theory in a favorable
298


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
light to my superiors. But just as I thought myself in shape
to meet their inquiries, I received an immediate summons
into their presence, where I was given a duty to perform
of so extraordinary and unexpected a nature, that it effec-
tually drove from my mind all my own plans for the elucida-
tion of the Zabriskie mystery.
“This was nothing more or less than to take charge of a
party of people who were going to the Jersey Heights for
the purpose of testing Dr. Zabriskie's skill with a pistol.”
III
aden movie have and for a being
The cause of this sudden move was soon explained
to me. Mrs. Zabriskie, anxious to have an end put to
the present condition of affairs, had begged for a more
rigid examination into her husband's state. This being
accorded, a strict and impartial inquiry had taken place,
with a result not unlike that which followed the first one.
Three out of his four interrogators judged him insane,
and could not be moved from their opinion though opposed
by the verdict of the young expert who had been living in the
house with him. Dr. Zabriskie seemed to read their thoughts,
and, showing extreme agitation, begged as before for an
opportunity to prove his sanity by showing his skill in
shooting. This time a disposition was evinced to grant his
request, which Mrs. Zabriskie no sooner perceived, than she
added her supplications to his that the question might be
thus settled.
A pistol was accordingly brought; but at sight of it her
courage failed, and she changed her prayer to an entreaty
that the experiment should be postponed till the next day,
and should then take place in the woods away from the sight
and hearing of needless spectators.
Though it would have been much wiser to have ended
the matter there and then, the Superintendent' was pre-
vailed upon to listen to her entreaties, and thus it was that
I came to be a spectator, if not a participator, in the final
scene of this most sombre drama.
299


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
There are some events which impress the human mind so
deeply that their memory mingles with all after-experiences.
Though I have made it a rule to forget as soon as possible
the tragic episodes into which I am constantly plunged, there
is one scene in my life which will not depart at my will; and
that is the sight which met my eyes from the bow of the
small boat in which Dr. Zabriskie and his wife were rowed
over to Jersey on that memorable afternoon.
Though it was by no means late in the day, the sun was
already sinking, and the bright red glare which filled the
heavens and shone full upon the faces of the half-dozen
persons before me added much to the tragic nature of the
scene, though we were far from comprehending its full sig-
nificance.
The Doctor sat with his wife in the stern, and it was
upon their faces my glance was fixed. The glare shone
luridly on his sightless eyeballs, and as I noticed his un-
winking lids I realized as never before what it was to be
blind in the midst of sunshine. Her eyes, on the contrary,
were lowered, but there was a look of hopeless misery in
her colorless face which made her appearance infinitely pa-
thetic, and I felt confident that if he could only have seen
her, he would not have maintained the cold and unresponsive
manner which chilled the words on her lips and made all
advance on her part impossible.
On the seat in front of them sat the Inspector and a
doctor, and from some quarter, possibly from under the In-
spector's coat, there came the monotonous ticking of a small
clock, which, I had been told, was to serve as a target for
the blind man's aim.
This tickling was all I heard, though the noise and bustle
of a great traffic was pressing upon us on every side. And I
am sure it was all that she heard, as, with hand pressed to
her heart and eyes fixed on the opposite shore, she waited
for the event which was to determine whether the man she
loved was a criminal or only a being afflicted of God, and
worthy of her unceasing care and devotion.
As the sun cast its last scarlet gleam over the water,
the boat grounded, and it fell to my lot to assist Mrs. Za-
300


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
briskie up the bank. As I did so, I allowed myself to say:
"I am your friend, Mrs. Zabriskie," and was astonished to
see her tremble, and turn toward me with a look like that
of a frightened child.
But there was always this characteristic blending in her
countenance of the childlike and the severe, such as may so
often be seen in the faces of nuns, and beyond an added
pang of pity for this beautiful but afflicted woman, I let the
moment pass without giving it the weight it perhaps de-
manded.
“The Doctor and his wife had a long talk last night," was
whispered in my ear as we wound our way along into the
woods. I turned and perceived at my side the expert physi-
cian, portions of whose diary I have already quoted. He
had come by another boat.
“But it did not seem to heal whatever breach lies between
them," he proceeded. Then in a quick, curious tone, he
asked: “Do you believe this attempt on his part is likely
to prove anything but a farce?”
"I believe he will shatter the clock to pieces with his
first shot," I answered, and could say no more, for we had
already reached the ground which had been selected for
this trial at arms, and the various members of the party
were being placed in their several positions.
The Doctor, to whom light and darkness were alike, stood
with his face toward the western glow, and at his side were
grouped the Inspector and the two physicians. On the arm
of one of the latter hung Dr. Zabriskie's overcoat, which he
had taken off as soon as he reached the field.
Mrs. Zabriskie stood at the other end of the opening,
near a tall stump, upon which it had been decided that the
clock should be placed when the moment came for the Doc-
tor to show his skill. She had been accorded the privilege
of setting the clock on this stump, and I saw it shining in
her hand as she paused for a moment to glance back at the
circle of gentlemen who were awaiting her movements. The
hands of the clock stood at five minutes to five, though I
scarcely noted the fact at the time, for her eyes were on
mine, and as she passed me she spoke:
301


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
"If he is not himself, he can not be trusted. Watch him
carefully, and see that he does no mischief to himself or
others. Be at his right hand, and stop him if he does not
handle his pistol properly."
I promised, and she passed on, setting the clock upon the
stump and immediately drawing back to a suitable distance
at the right, where she stood, wrapped in her long dark
cloak, quite alone. Her face shone ghastly white, even in its
environment of snow-covered boughs which surrounded her,
and, noting this, I wished the minutes fewer between the
present moment and the hour of five, at which he was to
draw the trigger.
“Dr. Zabriskie," quoth the Inspector, "we have endeavored
to make this trial a perfectly fair one. You are to have one
shot at a small clock which has been placed within a suitable
distance, and which you are expected to hit, guided only by
the sound which it will make in striking the hour of five.
Are you satisfied with the arrangement?”
"Perfectly. Where is my wife?"
"On the other side of the field, some ten paces from the
stump upon which the clock is fixed.”
He bowed, and his face showed satisfaction.
“May I expect the clock to strike soon?”
"In less than five minutes," was the answer.
“Then let me have the pistol; I wish to become acquainted
with its size and weight."
We glanced at each other, then across at her.
She made a gesture; it was one of acquiescence.
Immediately the Inspector placed the weapon in the
blind man's hand. It was at once apparent that the Doctor
understood the instrument, and my last doubt vanished as
to the truth of all he had told us.
“Thank God I am blind this hour and can not see her,"
fell unconsciously from his lips; then, before the echo of
these words had left my ears, he raised his voice and ob-
served calmly enough, considering that he was about to
prove himself a criminal in order to save himself from being
thought a madman:
“Let no one move. I must have my ears free for catch-
302


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
Her eyes were closed, but she opened them. Looking
long and steadily at his agonized face, she faltered forth:
"It is not you who have killed me; it is your crime. Had
you been innocent of Mr. Hasbrouck's death, your bullet
would never have found my heart. Did you think I could
survive the proof that you had killed that good man?"
“I—I did it unwittingly. I—”.
"Hush!" she commanded, with an awful look, which,
happily, he could not see. “I had another motive. I wished
to prove to you, even at the cost of my life, that I loved you,
had always loved you, and not_”.
It was now his turn to silence her. His hand crept over
her lips, and his despairing face turned itself blindly to-
ward us.
“Go,” he cried; “leave us! Let me take a last farewell of
my dying wife, without listeners or spectators."
Consulting the eye of the physician who stood beside me,
and seeing no hope in it, I fell slowly back. The others
followed, and the Doctor was left alone with his wife. From
the distant position we took, we saw her arms creep round
his neck, saw her head fall confidingly on his breast, then
silence settled upon them and upon all nature, the gather-
ing twilight deepening, till the last glow disappeared from
the heavens above and from the circle of leafless trees which
enclosed this tragedy from the outside world.
But at last there came a stir, and Dr. Zabriskie, rising
up before us, with the dead body of his wife held closely to
his breast, confronted us with a countenance so rapturous
that he looked like a man transfigured.
“I will carry her to the boat,” said he. “Not another
hand shall touch her. She was my true wife, my true wife!"
And he towered into an attitude of such dignity and passion
that for a moment he took on heroic proportions and we
forgot that he had just proved himself to have committed a
cold-blooded and ghastly crime.
The stars were shining when we again took our seats in
the boat; and if the scene of our crossing to Jersey was im-
pressive, what shall be said of that of our return?
304


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
The Doctor, as before, sat in the stern, an awesome
figure, upon which the moon shone with a white radiance
that seemed to lift his face out of the surrounding darkness
and set it, like an image of frozen horror, before our eyes.
Against his breast he held the form of his dead wife, and
now and then I saw him stoop as if he were listening for
some tokens of life at her set lips. Then he would lift him-
self again, with hopelessness stamped upon his features,
only to lean forward in renewed hope that was again des-
tined to disappointment.
The Inspector and the accompanying physician had taken
seats in the bow, and unto me had been assigned the special
duty of watching over the Doctor. This I did from a low
seat in front of him. I was therefore so close that I heard
his laboring breath, and though my heart was full of awe
and compassion, I could not prevent myself from bending
toward him and saying these words:
“Dr. Zabriskie, the mystery of your crime is no longer a
mystery to me. Listen and see if I do not understand your
temptation, and how you, a conscientious and God-fearing
man, came to slay your innocent neighbor.
“A friend of yours, or so he called himself, had for a long
time filled your ears with tales tending to make you sus-
picious of your wife and jealous of a certain man whom I
will not name. You knew that your friend had a grudge
against this man, and so for many months turned a deaf ear
to his insinuations. But finally some change which you
detected in your wife's bearing or conversation roused your
own suspicions, and you began to doubt if all was false
that came to your ears, and to curse your blindness, which
in a measure rendered you helpless. The jealous fever grew
and had risen to a high point, when one night-a memorable
night-this friend met you just as you were leaving town,
and with cruel craft whispered in your ear that the man you
hated was even then with your wife, and that if you would
return at once to your home you would find him in her
company.
"The demon that lurks at the heart of all men, good or
bad, thereupon took complete possession of you, and you
305


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
answered this false friend by saying that you would not re-
turn without a pistol. Whereupon he offered to take you to
his house and give you his. You consented, and getting rid
of your servant by sending him to Poughkeepsie with your
excuses, you entered a coach with your friend.
"You say you bought the pistol, and perhaps you did, but,
however that may be, you left his house with it in your
pocket and, declining companionship, walked home, arriving
at the Colonnade a little before midnight.
“Ordinarily you have no difficulty in recognizing your
own doorstep. But, being in a heated frame of mind, you
walked faster than usual and so passed your own house and
stopped at that of Mr. Hasbrouck's, one door beyond. As
the entrances of these houses are all alike, there was but one
way by which you could have made yourself sure that you
had reached your own dwelling, and that was by feeling for
the doctor's sign at the side of the door. But you never
thought of that. Absorbed in dreams of vengeance, your
sole impulse was to enter by the quickest means possible.
Taking out your night-key, you thrust it into the lock. It
fitted, but it took strength to turn it, so much strength that
the key was twisted and bent by the effort. But this inci-
dent, which would have attracted your attention at another
time, was lost upon you at this moment. An entrance had
been effected, and you were in too excited a frame of mind
to notice at what cost, or to detect the small differences
apparent in the atmosphere and furnishings of the two houses
-trifles which would have arrested your attention under
other circumstances, and made you pause before the upper
floor had been reached
"It was while going up the stairs that you took out your
pistol, so that by the time you arrived at the front-room door
you held it ready cocked and drawn in your hand. For,
being blind, you feared escape on the part of your victim,
and so waited for nothing but the sound of a man's voice
before firing. When, therefore, the unfortunate Mr. Has-
brouck, roused by this sudden intrusion, advanced with an
exclamation of astonishment, you pulled the trigger, killing
him on the spot. It must have been immediately upon his
306


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
fall that you recognized from some word he uttered, or from
some contact you may have had with your surroundings, that
you were in the wrong house and had killed the wrong man;
for you cried out, in evident remorse, 'God! what have I
done!' and fled without approaching your victim.
“Descending the stairs, you rushed from the house, clos-
ing the front door behind you and regaining your own with-
out being seen. But here you found yourself baffled in your
attempted escape by two things. First, by the pistol you
still held in your hand, and secondly, by the fact that the
key upon which you depended for entering your own door
was so twisted out of shape that you knew it would be use-
less for you to attempt to use it. What did you do in this
emergency? You have already told us, though the story
seemed so improbable at the time, you found nobody to be-
lieve it but myself. The pistol you flung far away from you
down the pavement, from which, by one of those rare chances
which sometimes happen in this world, it was presently
picked up by some late passer-by of more or less doubtful
character. The door offered less of an obstacle than you
anticipated; for when you turned to it again you found it, if
I am not greatly mistaken, ajar, left so, as we have reason to
believe, by one who had gone out of it but a few minutes
before in a state which left him but little master of his
actions. It was this fact which provided you with an answer
when you were asked how you succeeded in getting into
Mr. Hasbrouck's house after the family had retired for the
night.
"Astonished at the coincidence, but hailing with gladness
the deliverance which it offered, you went in and ascended
at once into your wife's presence; and it was from her lips,
and not from those of Mrs. Hasbrouck, that the cry arose
which startled the neighborhood and prepared men's minds
for the tragic words which were shouted a moment later
from the next house.
“But she who uttered the scream knew of no tragedy
save that which was taking place in her own breast. She
had just repulsed a dastardly suitor, and, seeing you enter
so unexpectedly in a state of unaccountable horror and agi-
307


ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
tation, was naturally stricken with dismay, and thought she
saw your ghost, or, what was worse, a possible avenger;
while you, having failed to kill the man you sought, and hav-
ing killed a man you esteemed, let no surprise on her part
lure you into any dangerous self-betrayal. You strove in-
stead to soothe her, and even attempted to explain the ex-
citement under which you labored, by an account of your
narrow escape at the station, till the sudden alarm from
next door distracted her attention, and sent both your
thoughts and hers in a different direction. Not till con-
science had fully awakened and the horror of your act had
had time to tell upon your sensitive nature, did you breathe
forth those vague confessions, which, not being supported by
the only explanations which would have made them credible,
led her, as well as the police, to consider you affected in
your mind. Your pride as a man, and your consideration for
her as a woman, kept you silent, but did not keep the worm
from preying upon your heart.
“Am I not correct in my surmises, Dr. Zabriskie, and is
not this the true explanation of your crime?"
With a strange look, he lifted up his face.
"Hush!” said he; "you will awaken her. See how peace-
fully she sleeps! I should not like to have her awakened
now, she is so tired, and I-I have not watched over her as
I should.”
Appalled at his gesture, his look, his tone, I drew back,
and for a few minutes no sound was to be heard but the
steady dip-dip of the oars and the lap-lap of the waters
against the boat. Then there came a quick uprising, the
swaying before me of something dark and tall and threaten-
ing, and before I could speak or move, or even stretch
forth my hands to stay him, the seat before me was empty,
and darkness had filled the place where but an instant
previous he had sat, a fearsome figure, erect and rigid as a
sphinx.
What little moonlight there was only served to show us
a few rising bubbles, marking the spot where the unfortunate
man had sunk with his much-loved burden. We could not
save him. As the widening circles fled farther and farther
308


THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK
out, the tide drifted us away, and we lost the spot which had
seen the termination of one of earth's saddest tragedies.
The bodies were never recovered. The police reserved to
themselves the right of withholding from the public the real
facts which made this catastrophe an awful remembrance to
those who witnessed it. A verdict of accidental death by
drowning answered all purposes, and saved the memory of
the unfortunate pair from such calumny as might have other-
wise assailed it. It was the least we could do for two beings
whom circumstances had so greatly afflicted.
309








THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
STORY OF THE BANDBOX
P to the age of sixteen, at a private school and after-
ward at one of those great institutions for which
England is justly famous, Mr. Harry Hartley had
received the ordinary education of a gentleman.
At that period, he manifested a remarkable distaste for
study; and his only surviving parent being both weak and
ignorant, he was permitted thenceforward to spend his time
in the attainment of petty and purely elegant accomplish-
ments. Two years later, he was left an orphan and almost
a beggar. For all active and industrious pursuits, Harry was
unfitted alike by nature and training. He could sing roman-
tic ditties, and accompany himself with discretion on the
piano; he was a graceful although a timid cavalier; he had
a pronounced taste for chess; and nature had sent him into
the world with one of the most engaging exteriors that can
well be fancied. Blond and pink, with dove's eyes and a
gentle smile, he had an air of agreeable tenderness and mel-
ancholy, and the most submissive and caressing manners.
But when all is said, he was not the man to lead armaments
of war, or direct the councils of a state.
A fortunate chance and some influence obtained for Harry,
at the time of his bereavement, the position of private secre-
tary to Major-General Sir Thomas Vandeleur, C.B. Sir
Thomas was a man of sixty, loud-spoken, boisterous, and
domineering. For some reason, some service the nature of
which had been often whispered and repeatedly denied, the
Rajah of Kashgar had presented this officer with the sixth
known diamond of the world. The gift transformed General
Vandeleur from a poor into a wealthy man, from an obscure
and unpopular soldier into one of the lions of London so-
Vol. 1
(14)
313


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
ciety; the possessor of the Rajah's Diamond was welcome
in the most exclusive circles; and he had found a lady,
young, beautiful, and well-born, who was willing to call the
diamond hers even at the price of marriage with Sir Thomas
Vandeleur. It was commonly said at the time that, as like
draws to like, one jewel had attracted another; certainly
Lady Vandeleur was not only a gem of the finest water in
her own person, but she showed herself to the world in a
very costly setting; and she was considered by many re-
spectable authorities as one among the three or four best
dressed women in England.
Harry's duty as secretary was not particularly onerous;
but he had a dislike for all prolonged work; it gave him pain
to ink his fingers; and the charm of Lady Vandeleur and her
toilets drew him often from the library to the boudoir. He
had the prettiest ways among women, could talk fashions
with enjoyment, and was never more happy than when
criticizing a shade of ribbon, or running on an errand to the
milliner's. In short, Sir Thomas's correspondence fell into
pitiful arrears, and my Lady had another lady's-maid.
At last the General, who was one of the least patient
of military commanders, arose from his place in a violent
access of passicn, and indicated to his secretary that he had
no further need for his services, with one of those explana-
tory gestures which are most rarely employed between gen-
tlemen. The door being unfortunately open, Mr. Hartley fell
downstairs headforemost.
He arose somewhat hurt and very deeply aggrieved. The
life in the General's house precisely suited him; he moved,
on a more or less doubtful footing, in very genteel com-
pany, he did little, he ate of the best, and he had a lukewarm
satisfaction in the presence of Lady Vandeleur, which, in his
own heart, he dubbed by a more emphatic name.
Immediately after he had been outraged by the military
foot, he hurried to the boudoir and recounted his sorrows.
"You know very well, my dear Harry,” replied Lady Van-
deleur, for she called him by name like a child or a domestic
servant, "that you never by any chance do what the General
tells you. No more do I, you may say. But that is different.
314


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
A woman can earn her pardon for a good year of disobe-
dience by a single adroit submission; and, besides, no one
is married to his private secretary. I shall be sorry to lose
you; but since you can not stay longer in a house where
you have been insulted, I shall wish you good-by, and I
promise you to make the General smart for his behavior."
Harry's countenance fell; tears came into his eyes and
he gazed on Lady Vandeleur with a tender reproach.
"My Lady," said he, "what is an insult? I should think
little indeed of any one who could not forgive them by the
score. But to leave one's friend; to tear up the bonds of
affection "
He was unable to continue, for his emotion choked him,
and he began to weep.
Lady Vandeleur looked at him with a curious expression.
“This little foon,” she thought, “imagines himself to be
in love with me. Why should he not become my servant
instead of the General's? He is good-natured, obliging, and
understands dress; and besides it will keep him out of mis-
chief. He is positively too pretty to be unattached."
That night she talked over the General, who was already
somewhat ashamed of his vivacity; and Harry was trans-
ferred to the feminine department, where his life was little
short of heavenly. He was always dressed with uncommon
nicety, wore delicate flowers in his buttonhole, and could
entertain a visitor with tact and pleasantry. He took a pride
in servility to a beautiful woman; received Lady Vandeleur's
commands as so many marks of favor; and was pleased to
exhibit himself before other men, who derided and despised
him, in his character of male lady's-maid and man milliner.
Nor could he think enough of his existence from a moral
point of view. Wickedness seemed to him an essentially
male attribute, and to pass one's days with a delicate woman,
and principally occupied about trimmings, was to inhabit an
enchanted isle among the storms of life.
One fine morning he came into the drawing-room and
began to arrange some music on the top of the piano. Lady
Vandeleur, at the other end of the apartment, was speaking
somewhat eagerly with her brother, Charlie Pendragon, an
315


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
elderly young man, much broken with dissipation, and very
lame of one foot. The private secretary, to whose entrance
they paid no regard, could not avoid overhearing a part of
their conversation.
“To-day or never," said the lady. "Once and for all, it
shall be done to-day.”
"To-day if it must be," replied the brother, with a sigh.
"But it is a false step, a ruinous step, Clara; and we shall
live to repent it dismally."
Lady Vandeleur looked her brother steadily and some-
what strangely in the face.
“You forget,” she said; "the man must die at last.”
"Upon my word, Clara,” said Pendragon, “I believe you
are the most heartless rascal in England.”
"You men,” she returned, “are so coarsely built, that you
can never appreciate a shade of meaning. You are your-
selves rapacious, violent, immodest, careless of distinction;
and yet the least thought for the future shocks you in a
woman. I have no patience with such stuff. You would
despise in a common banker the imbecility that you expect to
find in us."
"You are very likely right," replied her brother; "you
were always cleverer than I. And, anyway, you know my
motto: 'The family before all.'”
“Yes, Charlie,” she returned, taking his hand in hers, "I
know your motto better than you know it yourself. 'And
Clara before the family!' Is not that the second part of
it? Indeed, you are the best of brothers, and I love you
dearly."
Mr. Pendragon got up, looking a little confused by these
family endearments.
“I had better not be seen,” said he. "I understand my
part to a miracle, and I'll keep an eye on the Tame Cat."
“Do,” she replied. "He is an abject creature, and might
ruin all."
She kissed the tips of her fingers to him daintily; and the
brother withdrew by the boudoir and the back stair.
"Harry,” said Lady Vandeleur, turning toward the secre-
tary as soon as they were alone, “I have a commission for
316


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
have the goodness to look at this document? I know well
enough you married me for my money, and I hope I can
make as great allowances as any other man in the service;
but, as sure as God made me, I mean to put a period to this
disreputable prodigality.”
“Mr. Hartley,” said Lady Vandeleur, “I think you under-
stand what you have to do. May I ask you to see to it
at once?"
"Stop," said the General, addressing Harry, "one word
before you go.” And then, turning again to Lady Vandeleur,
"What is this precious fellow's errand?” he demanded. “I
trust him no further than I do yourself, let me tell you. If
he had as much as the rudiments of honesty, he would scorn
to stay in this house; and what he does for his wages is a
mystery to all the world. What is his errand, madam? and
why are you hurrying him away?”.
“I supposed you had something to say to me in private,”
replied the lady.
“You spoke about an errand,” insisted the General. "Do
not attempt to deceive me in my present state of temper. You
certainly spoke about an errand.”
"If you insist on making your servants privy to our hu-
miliating dissensions,” replied Lady Vandeleur, “perhaps I
had better ask Mr. Hartley to sit down. No?" she con-
tinued; "then you may go, Mr. Hartley. I trust you may re-
member all that you have heard in this room; it may be
useful to you."
Harry at once made his escape from the drawing-room;
and as he ran upstairs he could hear the General's voice
upraised in declamation, and the thin tones of Lady Vande-
leur planting icy repartees at every opening. How cordially
he admired the wife! How skilfully she could evade an awk-
ward question! with what secure effrontery she repeated her
instructions under the very guns of the enemy! and on the
other hand, how he detested the husband!
There had been nothing unfamiliar in the morning's
events, for he was continually in the habit of serving Lady
Vandeleur on secret missions, principally connected with
millinery. There was a skeleton in the house, as he well
318


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
knew. The bottomless extravagance and the unknown lia-
bilities of the wife had long since swallowed her own for-
tune, and threatened day by day to engulf that of the hus-
band. Once or twice in every year exposure and ruin seemed
imminent, and Harry kept trotting round to all sorts of fur-
nishers' shops, telling small fibs, and paying small advances
on the gross amount, until another term was tided over, and
the lady and her faithful secretary breathed again. For
Harry, in a double capacity, was heart and soul upon that
side of the war: not only did he adore Lady Vandeleur and
fear and dislike her husband, but he naturally sympathized
with the love of finery, and his own single extravagance was
at the tailor's.
He found the bandbox where it had been described, ar-
ranged his toilet with care, and left the house. The sun
shone brightly; the distance he had to travel was consid-
erable, and he remembered with dismay that the General's
sudden irruption had prevented Lady Vandeleur from giving
him money for a cab. On this sultry day there was every
chance that his complexion would suffer severely; and to
walk through so much of London with a bandbox on his
arm was a humiliation almost insupportable to a youth of
his character. He paused, and took counsel with himself.
The Vandeleurs lived in Eaton Place; his destination was
near Notting Hill; plainly, he might cross the Park by
keeping well in the open and avoiding populous alleys; and
he thanked his stars when he reflected that it was still com-
paratively early in the day.
Anxious to be rid of his incubus, he walked somewhat
faster than his ordinary, and he was already some way
through Kensington Gardens when, in a solitary spot among
the trees, he found himself confronted by the General.
"I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas,” observed Harry, po-
litely falling on one side; for the other stood directly in his
path.
“Where are you going, sir?” asked the General.
"I am taking a little walk among the trees,” replied the
lad.
The General struck the bandbox with his cane.
319


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
“With that thing?” he cried; "you lie, sir, and you know
you lie!”
"Indeed, Sir Thomas,” returned Harry, “I am not accus-
tomed to be questioned in so high a key."
"You do not understand your position,” said the General.
“You are my servant, and a servant of whom I have con-
ceived the most serious suspicions. How do I know but that
your box is full of teaspoons?”
"It contains a silk hat belonging to a friend,” said
Harry.
“Very well,” replied General Vandeleur. “Then I want
to see your friend's silk hat. I have,” he added, grimly, “a
singular curiosity for hats; and I believe you know me to be
somewhat positive."
“I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas, I am exceedingly
grieved,” Harry apologized; "but indeed this is a private
affair."
· The General caught him roughly by the shoulder with
one hand, while he raised his cane in the most menacing
manner with the other. Harry gave himself up for lost; but
at the same moment Heaven vouchsafed him an unexpected
defender in the person of Charlie Pendragon, who now
strode forward from behind the trees.
“Come, come, General, hold your hand,” said he, “this
is neither courteous nor manly."
“Aha!” cried the General, wheeling round upon his new
antagonist, “Mr. Pendragon! And do you suppose, Mr. Pen-
dragon, that, because I have had the misfortune to marry
your sister, I shall suffer myself to be dogged and thwarted
by a discredited and bankrupt libertine like you? My ac-
quaintance with Lady Vandeleur, sir, has taken away all
my appetite for the other members of her family."
"And do you fancy, General Vandeleur,” retorted Charlie,
"that, because my sister has had the misfortune to marry
you, she there and then forfeited her rights and privileges as
a lady? I own, sir, that by that action she did as much as
anybody could to derogate from her position; but to me she
is still a Pendragon. I make it my business to protect her
from ungentlemanly outrage, and if you were ten times her
320


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
leur was the wife of one and the sister of the other of these
gladiators, his heart was touched with sympathy for a
woman so distressingly misplaced in life. Even his own
situation in the General's household looked hardly so pleas-
ing as usual in the light of these violent transactions.
He had walked some little distance, busied with these
meditations, before a slight collision with another passenger
reminded him of the bandbox on his arm.
“Heavens!” cried he, "where was my head? and whither
have I wandered?”
Thereupon he consulted the envelope which Lady Vande-
leur had given him. The address was there, but without a
name. Harry was simply directed to ask for “the gentleman
who expected a parcel from Lady Vandeleur," and if he
were not at home to await his return. The gentleman, added.
the note, should present a receipt in the handwriting of the
lady herself. All this seemed mightily mysterious, and
Harry was above all astonished at the omission of the name
and the formality of the receipt. He had thought little of
this last when he heard it dropped in conversation; but read-
ing it in cold blood, and taking it in connection with the
other strange particulars, he became convinced that he was
engaged in perilous affairs. For half a moment he had a
doubt of Lady Vandeleur herself; for he found these ob-
scure proceedings somewhat unworthy of so high a lady,
and became more critical when her secrets were preserved
against himself. But her empire over his spirit was too
complete, he dismissed his suspicions and blamed himself
roundly for having so much as entertained them.
In one thing, however, his duty and interest, his gen-
erosity and his terrors, coincided to get rid of the bandbox
with the greatest possible despatch.
He accosted the first policeman and courteously inquired
his way. It turned out that he was already not far from
his destination, and a walk of a few minutes brought him
to a small house in a lane, freshly painted, and kept with
the most scrupulous attention. The knocker and bell-pull
were highly polished; flowering pot-herbs garnished the sills
of the different windows; and curtains of some rich material
322


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
concealed the interior from the eyes of curious passengers.
The place had an air of repose and secrecy; and Harry was
so far caught with this spirit that he knocked with more than
usual discretion, and was more than usually careful to re-
move all impurity from his boots.
A servant-maid of some personal attractions immediately
opened the door, and seemed to regard the secretary with
no unkind eyes.
“This is the parcel from Lady Vandeleur,” said Harry.
“I know,” replied the maid, with a nod. “But the gen-
tleman is from home. Will you leave it with me?"
“I can not,” answered Harry. "I am directed not to part
with it but upon a certain condition, and I must ask you, I
am afraid, to let me wait."
“Well,” said she, “I suppose I may let you wait. I am
lonely enough, I can tell you, and you do not look as though
you would eat a girl. But be sure and do not ask the gen-
tleman's name, for that I am not to tell you."
“Do you say so?” cried Harry. “Why, how strange! But
indeed for some time back I walk among surprises. One
question I think I may surely ask without indiscretion:
Is he the master of this house?”.
“He is a lodger, and not eight days old at that,” returned
the maid. “And now a question for a question: Do you
know Lady Vandeleur?”.
"I am her private secretary," replied Harry, with a glow
of modest pride.
"She is pretty, is she not?” pursued the servant.
"Oh, beautiful!” cried Harry; "wonderfully lovely, and
not less good and kind!”
"You look kind enough yourself,” she retorted; "and I
wager you are worth a dozen Lady Vandeleurs."
Harry was properly scandalized.
“I!” he cried. “I am only a secretary!”
“Do you mean that for me?” said the girl. "Because I
am only a housemaid, if you please.” And then, relenting
at the sight of Harry's obvious confusion, “I know you mean
nothing of the sort,” she added; "and I like your looks; but
I think nothing of your Lady Vandeleur. Oh, these mis-
323


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
tresses!" she cried. “To send out a real gentleman like
you—with a bandbox-in broad day!"
During this talk they had remained in their original posi-
tions--she on the doorstep, he on the sidewalk, bareheaded
for the sake of coolness, and with the bandbox on his arm.
But upon this last speech, Harry, who was unable to sup-
port such pointblank compliments to his appearance, nor
the encouraging look with which they were accompanied,
began to change his attitude, and glance from left to right
in perturbation. In so doing he turned his face toward the
lower end of the lane, and there, to his indescribable dismay,
his eyes encountered those of General Vandeleur. The
General, in a prodigious fluster of heat, hurry, and indigna-
tion, had been scouring the streets in chase of his brother-
in-law; but so soon as he caught a glimpse of the delinquent
secretary, his purpose changed, his anger flowed into a new
channel, and he turned on his heel and came tearing up the
lane with truculent gestures and vociferations.
Harry made but one bolt of it into the house, driving the
maid before him; and the door was slammed in his pursuer's
countenance.
“Is there a bar? Will it lock?" asked Harry, while a
salvo on the knocker made the house echo from wall to
wall.
“Why, what is wrong with you?" asked the maid. "Is
it this old gentleman?”
"If he gets hold of me,” whispered Harry, "I am as good
as dead. He has been pursuing me all day, carries a sword-
stick, and is an Indian military officer."
"These are fine manners," cried the maid. “And what,
if you please, may be his name?"
"It is the General, my master," answered Harry. "He is
after this bandbox."
“Did not I tell you?” cried the maid in triumph. “I told
you I thought worse than nothing of your Lady Vandeleur;
and if you had an eye in your head you might see what she
is for yourself. An ungrateful minx, I will be bound for
that!"
The General renewed his attack upon the knocker, and
324


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
his passion growing with delay, began to kick and beat
upon the panels of the door.
"It is lucky," observed the girl, "that I am alone in the
house; your General may hammer until he is weary, and
there is none to open for him. Follow me!”
So saying, she led Harry into the kitchen, where she made
him sit down, and stood by him herself in an affectionate
attitude, with a hand upon his shoulder. The din at the
door, so far from abating, continued to increase in volume,
and at each blow the unhappy secretary was shaken to the
heart.
“What is your name?" asked the girl.
"Harry Hartley," he replied.
“Mine," she went on, "is Prudence. Do you like it?"
"Very much,” said Harry. “But hear for a moment how
the General beats upon the door. He will certainly break
it in, and then, in Heaven's name, what have I to look for
but death?”
“You put yourself very much about with no occasion,"
answered Prudence. “Let your General knock, he will do no
more than blister his hands. Do you think I would keep
you here, if I were not sure to save you? Oh, no, I am a
good friend to those that please me! and we have a back
door upon another lane. But,” she added, checking him, for
he had got upon his feet immediately on this welcome news,
"but I will not show you where it is unless you kiss me.
Will you, Harry?"
“That I will,” he cried, remembering his gallantry, "not
for your back door, but because you are good and pretty.”
And he administered two or three cordial salutes, which
were returned to him in kind.
Then Prudence led him to the back gate, and put her
hand upon the key.
“Will you come and see me?" she asked.
"I will, indeed,” said Harry. "Do not I owe you my
life?"
“And now,” she added, opening the door, “run as hard
as you can, for I shall let in the General.”
Harry scarcely required this advice; fear had him by the
325


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
His appearance gave a new idea to Charlie Pendragon,
who, although he was now sadly out of breath, once more
upraised his voice.
"Stop thief!” he cried.
And immediately the butcher's boy had taken up the cry
and joined in the pursuit.
This was a bitter moment for the hunted secretary. It
is true that his terror enabled him once more to improve
his pace, and gain with every step on his pursuers; but he
was well aware that he was near the end of his resources,
and should he meet any one coming the other way, his
predicament in the narrow lane would be desperate indeed.
"I must find a place of concealment,” he thought, "and
that within the next few seconds, or all is over with me in
this world.”
Scarcely had the thought crossed his mind than the lane
took a sudden turning; and he found himself hidden from
his enemies. There are circumstances in which even the
least energetic of mankind learn to behave with vigor and
decision; and the most cautious forget their prudence and
embrace foolhardy resolutions. This was one of those occa-
sions for Harry Hartley; and those who knew him best
would have been the most astonished at the lad's audacity.
He stopped dead, flung the bandbox over a garden wall;
and leaping upward with incredible agility and seizing the
copestone with his hands, he tumbled headlong after it into
the garden.
He came to himself a moment afterward, seated in a
border of small rosebushes. His hands and knees were cut
and bleeding, for the wall had been protected against such
an escalade by a liberal provision of old bottles; and he
was conscious of a general dislocation and a painful swim-
ming in the head. Facing him across the garden, which was
in admirable order, and set with flowers of the most delicious
perfume, he beheld the back of a house. It was of consider-
able extent, and plainly habitable; but, in odd contrast to the
grounds, it was crazy, ill-kept, and of a mean appearance.
On all other sides the circuit of the garden wall appeared
unbroken.
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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
He took in these features of the scene with mechanical
glances, but his mind was still unable to piece together or
draw a rational conclusion from what he saw. And when he
heard footsteps advancing on the gravel, although he turned
his eyes in that direction, it was with no thought either for
defense or Alight.
The newcomer was a large, coarse, and very sordid per-
sonage, in gardening clothes, and with a watering-pot in his
left hand. One less confused would have been affected with
some alarm at the sight of this man's huge proportions and
black and lowering eyes. But Harry was too gravely shaken
by his fall to be so much as terrified; and if he was unable
to divert his glances from the gardener, he remained abso-
lutely passive, and suffered him to draw near, to take him by
the shoulder, and to plant him roughly on his feet, without a
motion of resistance.
For a moment the two stared into each other's eyes,
Harry fascinated, the man filled with wrath and a cruel,
sneering humor.
“Who are you?” he demanded at last. “Who are you to
come flying over my wall and break my Gloire de Dijons?
What is your name?” he added, shaking him; "and what may
be your business here?”
Harry could not as much as proffer a word in explanation.
But just at that moment Pendragon and the butcher's boy
went clumping past, and the sound of their feet and their
hoarse cries echoed loudly in the narrow lane. The gardener
had received his answer; and he looked down into Harry's
face with an obnoxious smile.
“A thief!” he said. “Upon my word, and a very good
thing you must make of it; for I see you dressed like a
gentleman from top to toe. Are you not ashamed to go
about the world in such a trim, with honest folk, I dare say,
glad to buy your cast-off finery second-hand. Speak up, you
dog," the man went on; "you can understand English, I sup-
pose; and I mean to have a bit of talk with you before I
march you to the station.”
"Indeed, sir,” said Harry, "this is all a dreadful miscon-
ception; and if you will go with me to Sir Thomas Van-
328


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
recognize the sad imbroglio in which his own character and
fortunes had become involved. He looked round him as if
for help, but he was alone in the garden, with his scattered
diamonds and his redoubtable interlocutor; and when he
gave ear, there was no sound but the rustle of the leaves and
the hurried pulsation of his heart. It was little wonder if
the young man felt himself deserted by his spirits, and with
a broken voice repeated his last ejaculation:
"I am lost!”
The gardener peered in all directions with an air of guilt;
but there was no face at any of the windows, and he seemed
to breathe again.
“Pick up a heart,” he said, “you fool! The worst of it is
done. Why could you not say at first there was enough
for two? Two?” he repeated," "aye, and for two hundred!
But come away from here, where we may be observed; and,
for the love of wisdom, straighten out your hat and brush
your clothes. You could not travel two steps the figure
of fun you look just now."
While Harry mechanically adopted these suggestions, the
gardener, getting upon his knees, hastily drew together the
scattered jewels and returned them to the bandbox. The
touch of these costly crystals sent a shiver of emotion
through the man's stalwart frame; his face was transfigured,
and his eyes shone with concupiscence; indeed it seemed as
if he luxuriously prolonged his occupation, and dallied with
every diamond that he handled. At last, however, it was
done; and, concealing the handbox in his smock, the gar-
dener beckoned to Harry and preceded him in the direction
of the house.
Near the door they were met by a young man evidently
in holy orders, dark and strikingly handsome, with a look
of mingled weakness and resolution, and very neatly attired
after the manner of his caste. The gardener was plainly
annoyed by this encounter; but he put as good a face upon
it as he could, and accosted the clergyman with an obse-
quious and smiling air.
“Here is a fine afternoon, Mr. Rolles," said he: "a fine
afternoon, as sure as God made it! And here is a young
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THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
friend of mine who had a fancy to look at my roses. I took
the liberty to bring him in, for I thought none of the lodgers
would object.”
"Speaking for myself,” replied the Reverend Mr. Rolles,
"I do not; nor do I fancy any of the rest of us would be more
difficult upon so small a matter. The garden is your own,
Mr. Raeburn; we must none of us forget that; and because
you give us liberty to walk there we should be indeed un-
gracious if we so far presumed upon your politeness as to
interfere with the convenience of your friends. But, on sec-
ond thoughts,” he added, "I believe that this gentleman and
I have met before. Mr. Hartley, I think. I regret to observe
that you have had a fall.”
And he offered his hand.
A sort of maiden dignity and a desire to delay as long
as possible the necessity for explanation moved Harry to
refuse this chance of help, and to deny his own identity. He
chose the tender mercies of the gardener, who was at least
unknown to him, rather than the curiosity and perhaps the
doubts of an acquaintance.
"I fear there is some mistake," said he. “My name is
Thomlinson and I am a friend of Mr. Raeburn's."
“Indeed?” said Mr. Rolles. “The likeness is amazing."
Mr. Raeburn, who had been upon thorns throughout this
colloquy, now felt it high time to bring it to a period.
“I wish you a pleasant saunter, sir," said he.
And with that he dragged Harry after him into the house,
and then into a chamber on the garden. His first care was to
draw down the blind, for Mr. Rolles still remained where
they had left him, in an attitude of perplexity and thought.
Then he emptied the broken bandbox on the table, and stood
before the treasure, thus fully displayed, with an expression
of rapturous greed, and rubbing his hands upon his thighs.
For Harry, the sight of the man's face under the influence
of this base emotion, added another pang to those he was
already suffering. It seemed incredible that, from his life
of pure and delicate trifling, he should be plunged in a breath
among sordid and criminal relations. He could reproach his
conscience with no sinful act; and yet he was now suffering
331


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
the punishment of sin in its most acute and cruel forms—the
dread of punishment, the suspicions of the good, and the
companionship and contamination of vile and brutal natures.
He felt he could lay his life down with gladness to escape
from the room and the society of Mr. Raeburn.
“And now," said the latter, after he had separated the
jewels into two nearly equal parts, and drawn one of them
nearer to himself; "and now,” said he, "everything in this
world has to be paid for, and some things sweetly. You
must know, Mr. Hartley, if such be your name, that I am a
man of a very easy temper, and good nature has been my
stumbling-block from first to last. I could pocket the whole
of these pretty pebbles, if I chose, and I should like to see
you dare to say a word; but I think I must have taken a
liking to you; for I declare I have not the heart to shave
you so close. So, do you see, in pure kind feeling, I pro-
pose that we divide; and these,” indicating the two heaps,
"are the proportions that seem to me just and friendly. Do
you see any objection, Mr. Hartley, may I ask? I am not
the man to stick upon a brooch."
“But, sir,” cried Harry, "what you propose to me is im-
possible. The jewels are not mine, and I can not share what
is another's, no matter with whom, nor in what proportions."
“They are not yours, are they not?" returned Raeburn.
"And you could not share them with anybody, couldn't you?
Well now, that is what I call a pity; for here am I obliged
to take you to the station. The police-think of that,” he
continued; "think of the disgrace for your respectable par-
ents; think,” he went on, taking Harry by the wrist; "think
of the Colonies and the Day of Judgment.”
“I can not help it," wailed Harry. "It is not my fault.
You will not come with me to Eaton Place?"
"No," replied the man, “I will not, that is certain. And I
mean to divide these playthings with you here."
And so saying he applied a sudden and severe torsion to
the lad's wrist.
Harry could not suppress a scream, and the perspiration
burst forth upon his face. Perhaps pain and terror quickened
his intelligence, but certainly at that moment the whole busi-
332


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
ness flashed across him in another light; and he saw that
there was nothing for it but to accede to the ruffian's pro-
posal, and trust to find the house and force him to disgorge,
under more favorable circumstances, and when he himself
was clear from all suspicion. “I agree,” he said.
“There is a lamb,” sneered the gardener. “I thought you
would recognize your interests at last. This bandbox," he
continued, “I shall burn with my rubbish; it is a thing that
curious folk might recognize; and as for you, scrape up your
gaieties and put them in your pocket.”
Harry proceeded to obey, Raeburn watching him, and
every now and again, his greed rekindled by some bright
scintillation, abstracting another jewel from the secretary's
share, and adding it to his own.
When this was finished, both proceeded to the front
door, which Raeburn cautiously opened to observe the street.
This was apparently clear of passengers; for he suddenly
seized Harry by the nape of the neck, and holding his face
downward so that he could see nothing but the roadway and
the doorsteps of the houses, pushed him violently before
him down one street and up another for the space of per-
haps a minute and a half. Harry had counted three corners
before the bully relaxed his grasp, and crying, “Now be off
with you!” sent the lad flying headforemost with a well-
directed and athletic kick.
When Harry gathered himself up, half-stunned and bleed-
ing freely at the nose, Mr. Raeburn had entirely disappeared.
For the first time, anger and pain so completely overcame
the lad's spirits that he burst into a fit of tears and remained
sobbing in the middle of the road.
After he had thus somewhat assuaged his emotion, he
began to look about him and read the names of the streets
at whose intersection he had been deserted by the gardener.
He was still in an unfrequented portion of West London,
among villas and large gardens; but he could see some per-
sons at a window who had evidently witnessed his misfor-
tune; and almost immediately after a servant came running
from the house and offered him a glass of water. At the
same time, a dirty rogue, who had been slouching some-
333


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
vants clustered together in the hall, and were unable, or per-
haps not altogether anxious, to suppress their merriment
at the tatterdemalion figure of the secretary. He passed
them with as good an air of dignity as he could assume, and
made directly for the boudoir. When he opened the door
an astonishing and even menacing spectacle presented itself
to his eyes; for he beheld the General and his wife, and, of
all people, Charlie Pendragon, closeted together and speak-
ing with earnestness and gravity on some important subject.
Harry saw at once that there was little left for him to
explain-plenary confession had plainly been made to the
General of the intended fraud upon his pocket, and the
unfortunate miscarriage of the scheme; and they had all
made common cause against a common danger.
"Thank Heaven!” cried Lady Vandeleur, "here he is!
The bandbox, Harry—the bandbox!”
But Harry stood before them silent and downcast.
"Speak!” she cried. “Speak! Where is the bandbox?"
And the men, with threatening gestures, repeated the
demand.
Harry drew a handful of jewels from his pocket. He
was very white.
“This is all that remains," said he. “I declare before
Heaven it was through no fault of mine; and if you will
have patience, although some are lost, I am afraid, forever,
others, I am sure, may be still recovered.”
"Alas!” cried Lady Vandeleur, "all our diamonds are
gone, and I owe ninety thousand pounds for dress!"
"Madam," said the General, "you might have paved the
gutter with your own trash; you might have made debts to
fifty times the sum you mention; you might have robbed
me of my mother's coronet and ring; and Nature might have
still so far prevailed that I could have forgiven you at last.
But, madam, you have taken the Rajah's Diamond-the Eye
of Light, as the Orientals poetically termed it—the Pride of
Kashgar! You have taken from me the Rajah's Diamond,”
he cried, raising his hands, "and all, madam, all is at an end
between us!"
"Believe me, General Vandeleur," she replied, “that is
335


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
one of the most agreeable speeches that ever I heard from
your lips; and since we are to be ruined, I could almost
welcome the change, if it delivers me from you. You have
told me often enough that I married you for your money;
let me tell you now that I always bitterly repented the bar-
gain; and if you were still marriageable, and had a diamond
bigger than your head, I should counsel even my maid
against a union so uninviting and disastrous. As for you,
Mr. Hartley,” she continued, turning on the secretary, "you
have sufficiently exhibited your valuable qualities in this
house; we are now persuaded that you equally lack manhood,
sense, and self-respect; and I can see only one course open
for you-to withdraw instanter, and, if possible, return no
more. For your wages you may rank as a creditor in my
late husband's bankruptcy.”
Harry had scarcely comprehended this insulting address
before the General was down upon him with another.
"And in the meantime,” said that personage, “follow me
before the nearest Inspector of Police. You may impose
upon a simple-minded soldier, sir, but the eye of the law will
read your disreputable secret. If I must spend my old age
in poverty through your underhand intriguing with my wife,
I mean at least that you shall not remain unpunished for
your pains; and God, sir, will deny me a very considerable
satisfaction if you do not pick oakum from now until your
dying day."
With that, the General dragged Harry from the apart-
ment, and hurried him downstairs and along the street to the
police-station of the district.
Here, says my Arabian author, ended this deplorable
business of the bandbox. But to the unfortunate secretary
the whole affair was the beginning of a new and manlier life.
The police were easily persuaded of his innocence; and, after
he had given what help he could in the subsequent investi-
gations, he was even complimented by one of the chiefs
of the detective department on the probity and simplicity of
his behavior. Several persons interested themselves in one
so unfortunate; and soon after he inherited a sum of money
336


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
“I can not be mistaken,” thought he. “That is Mr. Hart-
ley beyond a doubt. How comes he in such a pickle? why
does he deny his name? and what can be his business with
that black-looking ruffian, my landlord?"
As he was thus reflecting, another peculiar circumstance
attracted his attention. The face of Mr. Raeburn appeared
at a low window next the door; and, as chance directed,
his eyes met those of Mr. Rolles. The nurseryman seemed
disconcerted, and even alarmed; and immediately after the
blind of the apartment was pulled sharply down.
“This may all be very well,” reflected Mr. Rolles; "it may
be all excellently well; but I confess freely that I do not
think so. Suspicious, underhand, untruthful, fearful of ob-
servation-I believe upon my soul,” he thought, “the pair are
plotting some disgraceful action.”
The detective that there is in all of us awoke and became
clamant in the bosom of Mr. Rolles; and with a brisk,
eager step, that bore no resemblance to his usual gait, he
proceeded to make the circuit of the garden. When he
came to the scene of Harry's escalade, his eye was at once
arrested by a broken rose-bush and marks of trampling on
the mold. He looked up, and saw scratches on the brick,
and a rag of trouser floating from a broken bottle. This,
then, was the mode of entrance chosen by Mr. Raeburn's
particular friend! It was thus that General Vandeleur's
secretary came to admire a flower-garden! The young
clergyman whistled softly to himself as he stooped to ex-
amine the ground. He could make out where Harry had
landed from his perilous leap; he recognized the flat foot of
Mr. Raeburn where it had sunk deeply in the soil as he
pulled up the secretary by the collar; nay, on a closer in-
spection, he seemed to distinguish the marks of groping
fingers, as though something had been spilled abroad and
eagerly collected.
“Upon my word,” he thought, "the thing grows vastly
interesting.”
And just then he caught sight of something almost en-
tirely buried in the earth. In an instant he had disinterred
a dainty morocco case, ornamented and clasped in gilt. It
338


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
had been trodden heavily underfoot, and thus escaped the
hurried search of Mr. Raeburn. Mr. Rolles opened the case,
and drew a long breath of almost horrified astonishment;
for there lay before him, in a cradle of green velvet, a dia-
mond of prodigious magnitude and of the finest water. It
was of the bigness of a duck's egg; beautifully shaped, and
without a flaw; and as the sun shone upon it, it gave forth
a lustre like that of electricity, and seemed to burn in his
hand with a thousand internal fires.
He knew little of precious stones; but the Rajah's Dia-
mond was a wonder that explained itself; a village child, if
he found it, would run screaming for the nearest cottage;
and a savage would prostrate himself in adoration before
so imposing a fetish. The beauty of the stone flattered the
young clergyman's eyes; the thought of its incalculable
value overpowered his intellect. He knew that what he
held in his hand was worth more than many years' pur-
chase of an archiepiscopal see; that it would build cathe-
drals more stately than Ely or Cologne; that he who pos-
sessed it was set free forever from the primal curse, and
might follow his own inclinations without concern or hurry,
without let or hindrance. And as he suddenly turned it, the
rays leaped forth again with renewed brilliancy, and seemed
to pierce his very heart.
Decisive actions are often taken in a moment and with-
out any conscious deliverance from the rational parts of
man. So it was now with Mr. Rolles. He glanced hur-
riedly round; beheld, like Mr. Raeburn before him, nothing
but the sunlit flower-garden, the tall treetops, and the house
with blinded windows; and in a trice he had shut the case,
thrust it into his pocket, and was hastening to his study with
the speed of guilt.
The Reverend Simon Rolles had stolen the Rajah's Dia-
mond. .
Early in the afternoon the police arrived with Harry
Hartley. The nurseryman, who was beside himself with ter-
ror, readily discovered his hoard; and the jewels were iden-
tified and inventoried in the presence of the secretary. As
for Mr. Rolles, he showed himself in a most obliging temper,
339


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
communicated what he knew with freedom, and professed
regret that he could do no more to help the officers in their
duty.
"Still,” he added, “I suppose your business is nearly at
an end."
"By no means," replied the man from Scotland Yard;
and he narrated the second robbery of which Harry had
been the immediate victim, and gave the young clergyman a
description of the more important jewels that were still not
found, dilating particularly on the Rajah's Diamond.
"It must be worth a fortune," observed Mr. Rolles.
"Ten fortunes-twenty fortunes," cried the officer.
“The more it is worth,” remarked Simon shrewdly, "the
more difficult it must be to sell. Such a thing has a physiog-
nomy not to be disguised, and I should fancy a man might
as easily negotiate St. Paul's Cathedral.”.
"Oh, truly!' said the officer; "but if the thief be a man
of any intelligence, he will cut it into three or four, and
there will be still enough to make him rich.”
“Thank you,” said the clergyman. “You can not imagine
how much your conversation interests me."
Whereupon the functionary admitted that they knew
many strange things in his profession, and immediately
after took his leave.
Mr. Rolles regained his apartment. It seemed smaller
and barer than usual; the materials for his great work had
never presented so little interest; and he looked upon his
library with the eye of scorn. He took down, volume by
volume, several Fathers of the Church, and glanced them
through; but they contained nothing to his purpose.
“These old gentlemen,” thought he, “are no doubt very
valuable writers, but they seem to me conspicuously igno-
rant of life. Here am I, with learning enough to be a Bishop,
and I positively do not know how to dispose of a stolen
diamond. I glean a hint from a common policeman, and,
with all my folios, I can not so much as put it into execu-
tion. This inspires me with very low ideas of University
training."
Herewith he kicked over his book-shelf and, putting on
340


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
his hat, hastened from the house to the club of which he
was a member. In such a place of mundane resort he
hoped to find some man of good counsel and a shrewd
experience in life. In the reading-room he saw many of the
country clergy and an Archdeacon; there were three jour-
nalists and a writer upon the Higher Metaphysic, playing
pool; and at dinner only the raff of ordinary club fre-
quenters showed their commonplace and obliterated coun-
tenances. None of these, thought Mr. Rolles, would know
more on dangerous topics than he knew himself; none of
them were fit to give him guidance in his present strait. At
length, in the smoking-room, up many weary stairs, he hit
upon a gentleman of somewhat portly build and dressed
with conspicuous plainness. He was smoking a cigar and
reading the “Fortnightly Review”; his face was singularly
free from all sign of preoccupation or fatigue; and there was
something in his air which seemed to invite confidence and
to expect submission. The more the young clergyman scru-
tinized his features, the more he was convinced that he had
fallen on one capable of giving pertinent advice.
"Sir," said he, "you will excuse my abruptness; but I
judge you from your appearance to be preeminently a man
of the world.”
"I have indeed considerable claims to that distinction,"
replied the stranger, laying aside his magazine with a look
of mingled amusement and surprise.
“I, sir,” continued the Curate, "am a recluse, a student,
a creature of ink-bottles and patristic folios. A recent event
has brought my folly vividly before my eyes, and I desire
to instruct myself in life. By life,” he added, "I do not
mean Thackeray's novels; but the crimes and secret possi-
bilities of our society, and the principles of wise conduct
among exceptional events. I am a patient reader; can the
thing be learned in books?”
“You put me in a difficulty," said the stranger. “I con-
fess I have no great notion of the use of books, except to
amuse a railway journey; although, I believe, there are
some very exact treatises on astronomy, the use of the
globes, agriculture, and the art of making paper-flowers.
341


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
Upon the less apparent provinces of life I fear you will
find nothing truthful. Yet stay,” he added, “have you read
Gaboriau?"
Mr. Rolles admitted he had never even heard the name.
"You may gather some notions from Gaboriau,".resumed
the stranger. “He is at least suggestive; and as he is an
author much studied by Prince Bismarck, you will, at the
worst, lose your time in good society.”
"Sir," said the Curate, “I am infinitely obliged by your
politeness."
“You have already more than repaid me,” returned the
other.
“How?" inquired Simon.
"By the novelty of your request,” replied the gentleman;
and with a polite gesture, 'as though to ask permission, he
resumed the study of the "Fortnightly Review."
On his way home Mr. Rolles purchased a work on pre-
cious stones and several of Gaboriau's novels. These last
he eagerly skimmed until an advanced hour in the morn-
ing; but although they introduced him to many new ideas,
he could nowhere discover what to do with a stolen dia-
mond. He was annoyed, moreover, to find the information
scattered among romantic story-telling, instead of soberly
set forth after the manner of a manual; and he concluded
that, even if the writer had thought much upon these sub-
jects, he was totally lacking in educational method. For
the character and attainments of Lecoq, however, he was
unable to contain his admiration.
“He was truly a great creature," ruminated Mr. Rolles.
“He knew the world as I know Paley's Evidences. There
was nothing that he could not carry to a termination with
his own hand, and against the largest odds. Heavens!” he
broke out suddenly, “is not this the lesson? Must I not
learn to cut diamonds for myself?”
It seemed to him as if he had sailed at once out of his
perplexities; he remembered that he knew a jeweler, one B.
Macculloch, in Edinburgh, who would be glad to put him
in the way of the necessary training; a few months, perhaps
a few years, of sordid toil, and he would be sufficiently ex-
342


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
a visit in the course of the night, he could do no less than
receive it; he had no means of fortification, and lay open
to attack as if he had been lying in the fields. This situation
caused him some agony of mind. He recalled with alarm
the boastful statements of his fellow-traveler across the
dining-table, and the professions of immorality which he had
heard him offering to the disgusted Prince. Some persons,
he remembered to have read, are endowed with a singular
quickness of perception for the neighborhood of precious
metals; through walls and even at considerable distances
they are said to divine the presence of gold. Might it not
be the same with diamonds? he wondered; and if so, who
was more likely to enjoy this transcendental sense than the
person who gloried in the appellation of the Diamond
Hunter? From such a man he recognized that he had
everything to fear, and longed eagerly for the arrival of
the day.
In the meantime he neglected no precaution, concealed
his diamond in the most internal pocket of a system of great-
coats, and devoutly recommended himself to the care of
Providence.
The train pursued its usual even and rapid course; and
nearly half the journey had been accomplished before
slumber began to triumph over uneasiness in the breast of
Mr. Rolles. For some time he resisted its influence; but it
grew upon him more and more, and a little before York he
was fain to stretch himself upon one of the couches and
suffer his eyes to close; and almost at the same instant con-
sciousness deserted the young clergyman. His last thought
was of his terrifying neighbor.
When he awoke it was still pitch dark except for the
flicker of the veiled lamp; and the continual roaring and
oscillation testified to the unrelaxed velocity of the train.
He sat upright in a panic, for he had been tormented by the
most uneasy dreams; it was some seconds before he recov-
ered his self-command; and even after he had resumed a
recumbent attitude sleep continued to flee him, and he lay
awake with his brain in a state of violent agitation, and his
eyes fixed upon the lavatory door. He pulled his clerical felt
347


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
hat over his brow still further to shield him from the light;
and he adopted the usual expedients, such as counting a
thousand or banishing thought, by which experienced in-
valids are accustomed to woo the approach of sleep. In the
case of Mr. Rolles they proved one and all vain; he was
harassed by a dozen different anxieties—the old man in the
other end of the carriage haunted him in the most alarming
shapes; and in whatever attitude he chose to lie the dia-
mond in his pocket occasioned him a sensible physical dis-
tress. It burned, it was too large, it bruised his ribs; and
there were infinitesimal fractions of a second in which he
had half a mind to throw it from the window.
While he was thus lying, a strange incident took place.
The sliding door into the lavatory stirred a little, and
then a little more, and was finally drawn back for the space
of about twenty inches. The lamp in the lavatory was un-
shaded, and in the lighted aperture thus disclosed Mr.
Rolles could see the head of Mr. Vandeleur in an attitude
of deep attention. He was conscious that the gaze of the
Dictator rested intently on his own face and the instinct of
self-preservation moved him to hold his breath, to refrain
from the least movement, and keeping his eyes lowered, to
watch his visitor from underneath the lashes. After about
a moment the head was withdrawn and the door of the lava-
tory replaced.
The Dictator had not come to attack, but to observe; his
action was not that of a man threatening another, but that
of a man who was himself threatened; if Mr. Rolles was
afraid of him, it appeared that he, in his turn, was not quite
easy on the score of Mr. Rolles. He had come, it would
seem, to make sure that his only fellow-traveler was asleep;
and, when satisfied on that point, he had at once withdrawn.
The clergyman leaped to his feet. The extreme of terror
had given place to a reaction of foolhardy daring. He re-
flected that the rattle of the flying train concealed all other
sounds, and determined, come what might, to return the
visit he had just received. Divesting himself of his cloak,
which might have interfered with the freedom of his action,
he entered the lavatory and paused to listen. As he had
348


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
expected, there was nothing to be heard above the roar of
the train's progress; and laying his hand on the door at the
further side, he proceeded cautiously to draw it back for
about six inches. Then he stopped, and could not contain
an ejaculation of surprise.
John Vandeleur wore a fur traveling cap with lappets to
protect his ears; and this may have combined with the sound
of the express to keep him in ignorance of what was going
forward. It is certain, at least, that he did not raise his
head, but continued without interruption to pursue his
strange employment. Between his feet stood an open hat-
box; in one hand he held the sleeve of his sealskin great-
coat; in the other a formidable knife, with which he had
just slit up the lining of the sleeve. Mr. Rolles had read of
persons carrying money in a belt; and as he had no acquaint-
ance with any but cricket-belts, he had never been able
rightly to conceive how this was managed. But here was
a stranger thing before his eyes; for John Vandeleur, it ap-
peared, carried diamonds in the lining of his sleeve; and
even as the young clergyman gazed, he could see one glit-
tering brilliant drop after another into the hat-box..
He stood riveted to the spot, following this unusual busi-
ness with his eyes. The diamonds were, for the most part,
small, and not easily distinguishable either in shape or fire.
Suddenly the Dictator appeared to find a difficulty; he em-
ployed both hands and stopped over his task; but it was not
until after considerable maneuvring that he extricated a
large tiara of diamonds from the lining, and held it up for
some seconds' examination before he placed it with the
others in the hat-box. The tiara was a ray of light to Mr.
Rolles; he immediately recognized it for a part of the treas-
ure stolen from Harry Hartley by the loiterer. There was
no room for mistake; it was exactly as the detective had
described it; there were the ruby stars, with a great emerald
in the centre; there were the interlacing crescents; and
there were the pear-shaped pendants, each a single stone,
which gave a special value to Lady Vandeleur's tiara.
Mr. Rolles was hugely relieved. The Dictator was as
deeply in the affair as he was; neither could tell tales upon
349


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
“You flatter me," said Mr. Rolles.
"Pardon me," replied Vandeleur; "pardon me, young
man. You are no coward, but it still remains to be seen
whether you are not the worst of fools. Perhaps," he con-
tinued, leaning back upon his seat, "perhaps you would
oblige me with a few particulars. I must suppose you had
some object in the stupefying impudence of your proceed-
ings, and I confess I have a curiosity to know it.”
"It is very simple," replied the clergyman; "it proceeds
from my great inexperience of life.”
"I shall be glad to be persuaded,” answered Vandeleur.
Whereupon Mr. Rolles told him the whole story of his
connection with the Rajah's Diamond, from the time he found
it in Raeburn's garden to the time when he left London in
the Flying Scotchman. He added a brief sketch of his feel-
ings and thoughts during the journey, and concluded in these
words:
"When I recognized the tiara I knew we were in the
same attitude toward Society, and this inspired me with a
hope, which I trust you will say was not ill-founded, that
you might become in some sense my partner in the difficul-
ties and, of course, the profits of my situation. To one of
your special knowledge and obviously great experience the
negotiation of the diamond would give but little trouble,
while to me it was a matter of impossibility. On the other
part, I judged that I might lose nearly as much by cutting
the diamond, and that not improbably with an unskilful
· hand, as might enable me to pay you with proper generosity
for your assistance. The subject was a delicate one to
broach; and perhaps I fell short in delicacy. But I must ask
you to remember that for me the situation was a new one,
and I was entirely unacquainted with the etiquette in use.
I believe without vanity that I could have married or bap-
tized you in a very acceptable manner; but every man has
his own aptitudes, and this sort of bargain was not among
the list of my accomplishments."
"I do not wish to flatter you," replied Vandeleur; "but,
upon my word, you have an unusual disposition for a life
of crime. You have more accomplishments than you im-
351


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
cellent guess. Your father, and no one else, is at the root
of this apparently unnatural business."
“My father!” cried Francis, in extreme disdain. “Worthy
man, I know every thought of his mind, every penny of his
fortune!”
“You misinterpret my words," said the lawyer. "I
do not refer to Mr. Scrymgeour, senior; for he is not your
father. When he and his wife came to Edinburgh, you were
already nearly one year old, and you had not yet been three
months in their care. The secret has been well kept; but
such is the fact. Your father is unknown, and I say again
that I believe him to be the original of the offers I am
charged at present to transmit to you.”
It would be impossible to exaggerate the astonishment
of Francis Scrymgeour at this unexpected information. He
pleaded this confusion to the lawyer.
"Sir," said he, “after a piece of news so startling, you
must grant me some hours for thought. You shall know this
evening what conclusion I have reached.”
The lawyer commended his prudence; and Francis, ex-
cusing himself upon some pretext at the bank, took a long
walk into the country, and fully considered the different
steps and aspects of the case. A pleasant sense of his own
importance rendered him the more deliberate: but the issue
was from the first not doubtful. His whole carnal man
leaned irresistibly toward the five hundred a year, and the
strange conditions with which it was burdened; he discov-
ered in his heart an invincible repugnance to the name of
Scrymgeour, which he had never hitherto disliked; he began
to despise the narrow and unromantic interests of his former
life; and when once his mind was fairly made up, he walked
with a new feeling of strength and freedom, and nourished
himself with the gayest anticipations.
He said but a word to the lawyer, and immediately re-
ceived a check for two quarters' arrears; for the allowance
was antedated from the first of January. With this in his
pocket, he walked home. The flat in Scotland Street looked
mean in his eyes; his nostrils, for the first time, rebelled
against the odor of broth; and he observed little defects of
355


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
It chanced that his way lay up the Rue Drouot and thence
up the Rue des Martyrs; and chance, in this case, served him
better than all the forethought in the world. For on the
outer boulevard he saw two men in earnest colloquy upon a
seat. One was dark, young, and handsome, secularly dressed,
but with an indelible clerical stamp; the other answered in
every particular to the description given him by the clerk.
Francis felt his heart beat high in his bosom; he knew he
was now about to hear the voice of his father; and making
a wide circuit, he noiselessly took his place behind the
couple in question, who were too much interested in their
talk to observe much else. As Francis had expected, the
conversation was conducted in the English language.
“Your suspicions begin to annoy me, Rolles," said the
older man. “I tell you I am doing my utmost; a man can
not lay his hand on millions in a moment. Have I not taken
you up, a mere stranger, out of pure goodwill? Are you not
living largely on my bounty?".
"On your advances, Mr. Vandeleur,” corrected the other.
"Advances, if you choose; and interest instead of good-
will, if you prefer it,” returned Vandeleur, angrily. “I am
not here to pick expressions. Business is business; and your
business, let me remind you, is too muddy for such airs.
Trust me, or leave me alone and find some one else; but let
us have an end, for God's sake, of your jeremiads."
"I am beginning to learn the world,” replied the other,
"and I see that you have every reason to play me false, and
not one to deal honestly. I am not here to pick expressions,
either; you wish the diamond for yourself; you know you do
-you dare not deny it. Have you not already forged my
name, and searched my lodging in my absence? I under-
stand the cause of your delays; you are lying in wait; you
are the diamond-hunter, forsooth; and sooner or later, by
fair means or foul, you'll lay your hands upon it. I tell you,
it must stop; push me much further and I promise you a
surprise.”
"It does not become you to use threats,” returned Vande-
leur. "Two can play at that. My brother is here in Paris;
the police are on the alert; and if you persist in wearying
357


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
me with your caterwauling, I will arrange a little astonish-
ment for you, Mr. Rolles. But mine shall be once and for
all. Do you understand, or would you prefer me to tell it
you in Hebrew? There is an end to all things, and you have
come to the end of my patience. Tuesday, at seven; not
a day, not an hour sooner, not the least part of a second,
if it were to save your life. And if you do not choose to
wait, you may go to the bottomless pit for me, and welcome.”
And so saying, the Dictator arose from the bench, and
marched off in the direction of Montmartre, shaking his head
and swinging his cane with a most furious air; while his
companion remained where he was, in an attitude of great
dejection.
Francis was at the pitch of surprise and horror; his sen-
timents had been shocked to the last degree; the hopeful
tenderness with which he had taken his place upon the bench
was transformed into repulsion and despair; old Mr. Scrym-
geour, he reflected, was a far more kindly and creditable
parent than this dangerous and violent intriguer; but he re-
tained his presence of mind, and suffered not a moment to
elapse before he was on the trail of the Dictator.
That gentleman's fury carried him forward at a brisk
pace, and he was so completely occupied in his angry
thoughts that he never so much as cast a look behind him
till he reached his own door.
His house stood high up in the Rue Lepic, commanding
a view of all Paris and enjoying the pure air of the heights.
It was two stories high, with green blinds and shutters; and
all the windows looking on the street were hermetically
closed. Tops of trees showed over the high garden wall,
and the wall was protected by chevaux-de-frise. The Dicta-
tor paused a moment while he searched his pocket for a
key; and then, opening a gate, disappeared within the en-
closure.
Francis looked about him; the neighborhood was very
lonely; the house isolated in its garden. It seemed as if his
observation must here come to an abrupt end. A second
glance, however, showed him a tall house next door pre-
senting a gable to the garden, and in this gable a single
358


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
Only late in the evening did anything occur to reward
his continued attention. Between nine and ten the sharp
tinkle of a bell aroused him from a fit of dozing; and he
sprang to his observatory in time to hear an important noise
of locks being opened and bars removed, and to see Mr.
Vandeleur, carrying a lantern and clothed in a flowing robe
of black velvet with a skull-cap to match, issue from under
the veranda and proceed leisurely toward the garden gate.
The sound of bolts and bars was then repeated; and a mo-
ment after Francis perceived the Dictator escorting into
the house, in the mobile light of the lantern, an individual
of the lowest and most despicable appearance.
Half an hour afterward the visitor was reconducted to the
street; and Mr. Vandeleur, setting his light upon one of the
rustic tables, finished a cigar with great deliberation under
the foliage of the chestnut. Francis, peering through a clear
space among the leaves, was able to follow his gestures as
he threw away the ash or enjoyed a copious inhalation; and
beheld a cloud upon the old man's brow and a forcible action
of the lips, which testified to some deep and probably pain-
ful train of thought. The cigar was already almost at an
end, when the voice of a young girl was heard suddenly
crying the hour from the interior of the house.
“In a moment,” replied John Vandeleur.
And, with that, he threw away the stump and, taking up
the lantern, sailed away under the veranda for the night. As
soon as the door was closed, absolute darkness fell upon
the house. Francis might try his eyesight as much as he
pleased, he could not detect so much as a single chink
of light below a blind; and he concluded, with great
good sense, that the bedchambers were all upon the other
side.
Early the next morning (for he was early awake after
an uncomfortable night upon the floor), he saw cause to
adopt a different explanation. The blinds rose, one after
another, by means of a spring in the interior, and disclosed
steel shutters such as we see on the front of shops; these in
their turn were rolled up by a similar contrivance; and, for
the space of about an hour, the chambers were left open to
360


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
the morning air. At the end of that time Mr. Vandeleur,
with his own hand, once more closed the shutters and re-
placed the blinds from within.
While Francis was still marveling at these precautions,
the door opened and a young girl came forth to look about
her in the garden. It was not two minutes before she re-
entered the house, but even in that short time he saw enough
to convince him that she possessed the most unusual attrac-
tions. His curiosity was not only highly excited by this
incident, but his spirits were improved to a still more nota-
ble degree. The alarming manners and more than equivocal
life of his father ceased from that moment to prey upon his
mind; from that moment he embraced his new family with
ardor; and whether the young lady should prove his sister
or his wife, he felt convinced she was an angel in disguise.
So much was this the case that he was seized with a sudden
horror when he reflected how little he really knew, and how
possible it was that he had followed the wrong person when
he followed Mr. Vandeleur.
The porter, whom he consulted, could afford him little
information; but, such as it was, it had a mysterious and
questionable sound. The person next door was an English
gentleman of extraordinary wealth, and proportionately ec-
centric in his tastes and habits. He possessed great collec-
tions, which he kept in the house beside him; and it was to
protect these that he had fitted the place with steel shutters,
elaborate fastenings, and chevaux-de-frise along the garden
wall. He lived much alone, in spite of some strange visitors
with whom, it seemed, he had business to transact; and there
was no one else in the house, except Mademoiselle and an
old woman servant.
“Is Mademoiselle his daughter?” inquired Francis.
"Certainly,” replied the porter. “Mademoiselle is the
daughter of the house; and strange it is to see how she is
made to work. For all his riches, it is she who goes to
market; and every day in the week you may see her going
by with a basket on her arm.”
"And the collections?” asked the other.
"Sir,” said the man, “they are immensely valuable. More
(16)
Vol. 1
361


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
I can not tell you. Since M. de Vandeleur's arrival no one
in the quarter has so much as passed the door.”
"Suppose not,” returned Francis, "you must surely have
some notion what these famous galleries contain. Is it
pictures, silks, statues, jewels, or what?”
"My faith, sir," said the fellow with a shrug, “it might
be carrots, and still I could not tell you. How should I
know? The house is kept like a garrison, as you perceive."
And then as Francis was returning disappointed to his
room, the porter called him back.
“I have just remembered, sir,” said he. “M. de Vandeleur
has been in all parts of the world, and I once heard the old
woman declare that he had brought many diamonds back
with him. If that be the truth, there must be a fine show
behind those shutters."
By an early hour on Sunday Francis was in his place
at the theatre. The seat which had been taken for him was
only two or three numbers from the left-hand side, and di-
rectly opposite one of the lower boxes. As the seat had
been specially chosen there was doubtless something to be
learned from its position; and he judged by an instinct that
the box upon his right was, in some way or other, to be
connected with the drama in which he ignorantly played a
part. Indeed it was so situated that its occupants could
safely observe him from beginning to end of the piece, if
they were so minded; while, profiting by the depth, they
could screen themselves sufficiently well from any counter-
examination on his side. He promised himself not to leave
it for a moment out of sight; and while he scanned the rest
of the theatre, or made a show of attending to the business
of the stage, he always kept a corner of an eye upon the
empty box.
The second act had been some time in progress, and was
even drawing toward a close, when the door opened and
two persons entered and ensconced themselves in the dark-
est of the shade. Francis could hardly control his emotion.
It was Mr. Vandeleur and his daughter. The blood came
and went in his arteries and veins with stunning activity; his
ears sang; his head turned. He dared not look lest he
362


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
She found her voice with an effort.
“I do not know who you are,” she said.
“Ah, yes! Miss Vandeleur, you do,” returned Francis;
"better than I do myself. Indeed it is on that, above all,
that I seek light. Tell me what you know," he pleaded.
“Tell me who I am, who you are, and how our destinies are
intermixed. Give me a little help with my life, Miss Vande-
leur-only a word or two to guide me, only the name of my
father, if you will—and I shall be grateful and content.”
"I will not attempt to deceive you,” she replied. “I
know who you are, but I am not at liberty to say."
“Tell me, at least, that you have forgiven my presump-
tion, and I shall wait with all the patience I have,” he said.
“If I am not to know, I must do without. It is cruel, but
I can bear more upon a push. Only do not add to my
troubles the thought that I have made an enemy of you."
“You did only what was natural,” she said, “and I have
nothing to forgive you. Farewell.”
"Is it to be farewell ?” he asked.
"Nay, that I do not know myself,” she answered. "Fare-
well for the present, if you like.”
And with these words she was gone.
Francis returned to his lodging in a state of consider-
able commotion of mind. He made the most trifling progress
with his Euclid for that forenoon, and was more often at the
window than at his improvised writing-table. But beyond
seeing the return of Miss Vandeleur, and the meeting be-
tween her and her father, who was smoking a Trichinopoli
cigar in the veranda, there was nothing notable in the neigh-
borhood of the house with the green blinds before the time
of the midday meal. The young man hastily allayed his
appetite in a neighboring restaurant, and returned with the
speed of unallayed curiosity to the house in the Rue Lepic.
A mounted servant was leading a saddle-horse to and fro
before the garden wall; and the porter of Francis's lodging
was smoking a pipe against the door-post, absorbed in con-
templation of the livery and the steeds.
“Look!” he cried to the young man, “what fine cattle!
what an elegant costume! They belong to the brother of
365


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
M. de Vandeleur, who is now within upon a visit. He is a
great man, a general, in your country; and you doubtless
know him well by reputation.”
“I confess," returned Francis, “that I have never heard
of General Vandeleur before. We have many officers of that
grade, and my pursuits have been exclusively civil.”
"It is he,” replied the porter, "who lost the great diamond
of the Indies. Of that at least you must have read often in
the papers.'
As soon as Francis could disengage himself from the
porter he ran upstairs and hurried to the window. Imme-
diately below the clear space in the chestnut leaves, the two
gentlemen were seated in conversation over a cigar. The
General, a red, military-looking man, offered some traces of
a family resemblance to his brother; he had something of
the same features, something, although very little, of the
same free and powerful carriage; but he was older, smaller,
and more common in air; his likeness was that of a cari.
cature, and he seemed altogether a poor and debile being
by the side of the Dictator.
They spoke in tones so low, leaning over the table with
every appearance of interest, that Francis could catch no
more than a word or two on an occasion. For as little as
he heard, he was convinced that the conversation turned
upon himself and his own career; several times the name of
Scrymgeour reached his ear, for it was easy to distinguish,
and still more frequently he fancied he could distinguish the
name Francis.
At length the General, as if in a hot anger, broke forth
into several violent exclamations.
"Francis Vandeleur!” he cried, accentuating the last word.
"Francis Vandeleur, I tell you.”
The Dictator made a movement of his whole body, half
affirmative, half contemptuous, but his answer was inaudible
to the young man.
Was he the Francis Vandeleur in question? he wondered.
Were they discussing the name under which he was to be
married? Or was the whole affair a dream and a delusion
of his own conceit and self-absorption?
366


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
After another interval of inaudible talk, dissension seemed
again to arise between the couple underneath the chestnut,
and again the General raised his voice angrily so as to be
audible to Francis.
“My wife?" he cried. “I have done with my wife for
good. I will not hear her name. I am sick of her very
name.”
And he swore aloud and beat the table with his fist.
The Dictator appeared, by his gestures, to pacify him
after a paternal fashion; and a little after he conducted him
to the garden gate. The pair shook hands affectionately
enough; but as soon as the door had closed behind his vis-
itor, John Vandeleur fell into a fit of laughter which sounded
unkindly and even devilish in the ears of Francis Scrym-
geour.
So another day had passed, and little more learned. But
the young man remembered that the morrow was Tuesday,
and promised himself some curious discoveries; all might
be well, or all might be ill; he was sure, at least, to glean
some curious information, and, perhaps, by good luck, get
at the heart of the mystery which surrounded his father
and his family
As the hour of the dinner drew near many preparations
were made in the garden of the house with the green blinds.
That table which was partly visible to Francis through the
chestnut leaves was destined to serve as a sideboard, and
carried relays of plates and the materials for salad; the
other, which was almost entirely concealed, had been set
apart for the diners, and Francis could catch glimpses of
white cloth and silver plate.
Mr. Rolles arrived, punctual to the minute; he looked like
a man upon his guard, and spoke low and sparingly. The
Dictator, on the other hand, appeared to enjoy an unusual
flow of spirits; his laugh, which was youthful and pleasant
to hear, sounded frequently from the garden; by the modu-
lation and the changes of his voice it was obvious that he
told many droll stories and imitated the accents of a variety
of different nations; and before he and the young clergyman
had finished their vermuth all feeling of distrust was at an
367


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
There was another pause, and the Dictator spoke again.
“Take that man by the heels,” he said. “I must have
him brought into the house. If I were a little younger, I
could help myself against the world. But now that years
and dangers are upon me and my hands are weakened, I
must turn to you for aid.”.
"It is a crime,” replied the girl.
"I am your father," said Mr. Vandeleur.
This appeal seemed to produce its effect. A scuffling
noise followed upon the gravel, a chair was overset, and
then Francis saw the father and daughter stagger across the
walk and disappear under the veranda, bearing the inani-
mate body of Mr. Rolles embraced about the knees and
shoulders. The young clergyman was limp and pallid, and
his head rolled upon his shoulders at every step.
Was he alive or dead? Francis, in spite of the Dictator's
declaration, inclined to the latter view. A great crime had
been committed; a great calamity had fallen upon the inhabi-
tants of the house with the green blinds. To his surprise,
Francis found all horror for the deed swallowed up in sor-
row for a girl and an old man whom he judged to be in the
height of peril. A tide of generous feeling swept into his
heart; he, too, would help his father against man and man-
kind, against fate and justice; and casting open the shutters
he closed his eyes and threw himself with outstretched arms
into the foliage of the chestnut.
Branch after branch slipped from his grasp or broke under
his weight; then he caught a stalwart bough under his arm-
pit, and hung suspended for a second; and then he let him-
self drop and fell heavily against the table. A cry of alarm
from the house warned him that his entrance had not been
effected unobserved. He recovered himself with a stagger,
and in three bounds crossed the intervening space and stood
before the door in the veranda.
In a small apartment, carpeted with matting and sur-
rounded by glazed cabinets full of rare and costly curios, Mr.
Vandeleur was stooping over the body of Mr. Rolles. He
raised himself as Francis entered, and there was an instan-
taneous passage of hands. It was the business of a second;
370


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
as fast as an eye can wink the thing was done; the young
man had not the time to be sure, but it seemed to him as if
the Dictator had taken something from the curate's breast,
looked at it for the least fraction of time as it lay in his hand,
and then suddenly and swiftly passed it to his daughter.
All this was over while Francis had still one foot upon
the threshold, and the other raised in air. The next instant
he was on his knees to Mr. Vandeleur.
"Father!” he cried. “Let me too help you. I will do
what you wish and ask no questions; I will obey you with
my life; treat me as a son, and you will find I have a son's
devotion."
A deplorable explosion of oaths was the Dictator's first
reply.
"Son and father?” he cried. "Father and son? What
d- d unnatural comedy is all this? How do you come in
my garden? What do you want? And who, in God's name,
are you?"
Francis, with a stunned and shamefaced aspect, got upon
his feet again, and stood in silence.
Then a light seemed to break upon Mr. Vandeleur, and he
laughed aloud.
"I see," cried he. “It is the Scrymgeour. Very well, Mr.
Scrymgeour. Let me tell you in a few words how you stand.
You have entered my private residence by force, or perhaps
by fraud, but certainly with no encouragement from me; and
you come at a moment of some annoyance, a guest having
fainted at my table, to besiege me with your protestations.
You are no son of mine. You are my brother's bastard by
a fishwife, if you want to know. I regard you with an in-
difference closely bordering on aversion; and from what I
now see of your conduct, I judge your mind to be exactly
suitable to your exterior. I recommend you these mortify-
ing reflections for your leisure; and, in the meantime, let me
beseech you to rid us of your presence. If I were not occu-
pied,” added the Dictator, with a terrifying oath, “I should
give you the unholiest drubbing ere you went!"
Francis listened in profound humiliation. He would have
fled had it been possible; but as he had no means of leaving
371


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
suppose that Miss Vandeleur had left anything unsaid. In-
deed, the young man was sore both in body and mind-the
one was all bruised, the other was full of smarting arrows;
and he owned to himself that Mr. Vandeleur was master of
a very deadly tongue.
The thought of his bruises reminded him that he had
not only come without a hat, but that his clothes had con-
siderably suffered in his descent through the chestnut. At
the first magazine he purchased a cheap wideawake, and had
the disorder of his toilet summarily repaired. The keepsake,
still rolled in the handkerchief, he thrust in the meanwhile
into his trousers pocket.
Not many steps beyond the shop he was conscious of a
sudden shock, a hand upon his throat, an infuriated face
close to his own, and an open mouth bawling curses in his
ear. The Dictator, having found no trace of his quarry, was
returning by the other way. Francis was a stalwart young
fellow, but he was no match for his adversary whether in
strength or skill; and after a few ineffectual struggles he
resigned himself entirely to his captor.
“What do you want with me?” said he.
“We will talk of that at home,” returned the Dictator,
grimly.
And he continued to march the young man up hill in the
direction of the house with the green blinds.
But Francis, although he no longer struggled, was only
waiting an opportunity to make a bold push for freedom.
With a sudden jerk he left the collar of his coat in the hands
of Mr. Vandeleur, and once more made off at his best speed
in the direction of the Boulevards.
The tables were now turned. If the Dictator was the
stronger, Francis, in the top of his youth, was the more
fleet of foot, and he had soon effected his escape among the
crowds. Relieved for a moment, but with a growing senti-
ment of alarm and wonder in his mind, he walked briskly
until he debouched upon the Place de l'Opera, lit up like day
with electric lamps.
"This, at least," thought he, "should satisfy Miss Van-
deleur.”
375


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
And turning to his right along the Boulevards, he entered
the Café Americain and ordered some beer. It was both late
and early for the majority of the frequenters of the estab-
lishment. Only two or three persons, all men, were dotted
here and there at separate tables in the hall; and Francis
was too much occupied by his own thoughts to observe
their presence.
He drew the handkerchief from his pocket. The object
wrapped in it proved to be a morocco case, clasped and or-
namented in gilt, which opened by means of a spring, and
disclosed to the horrified young man a diamond of mon-
strous bigness and extraordinary brilliancy. The circum-
stance was so inexplicable, the value of the stone was plainly
so enormous, that Francis sat staring into the open casket
without movement, without conscious thought, like a man
stricken suddenly with idiocy.
A hand was laid upon his shoulder, lightly but firmly, and
a quiet voice, which yet had in it the ring of command, ut-
tered these words in his ear:
"Close the casket, and compose your face."
Looking up, he beheld a man, still young, of an urbane
and tranquil presence, and dressed with rich simplicity. This
personage had risen from a neighboring table, and, bringing
his glass with him, had taken a seat beside Francis.
"Close the casket," repeated the stranger, "and put it
quietly back into your pocket, where I feel persuaded it
should never have been. Try, if you please, to throw off
your bewildered air, and act as thought I were one of your
acquaintances whom you had met by chance. So! Touch
glasses with me. That is better. I fear, sir, you must be
an amateur.”
And the stranger pronounced these last words with a
smile of peculiar meaning, leaned back in his seat, and en-
joyed a deep inhalation of tobacco.
"For God's sake," said Francis, "tell me who you are and
what this means? Why I should obey your most unusual
suggestions I am sure I know not; but the truth is, I have
fallen this evening into so many perplexing adventures, and
all I meet conduct themselves so strangely, that I think I
376


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
must either have gone mad or wandered into another planet.
Your face inspires me with confidence; you seem wise, good,
and experienced; tell me, for Heaven's sake, why you accost
me in so odd a fashion?”
"All in due time,” replied the stranger. "But I have the
first hand, and you must begin by telling me how the Rajah's
Diamond is in your possession."
“The Rajah's Diamond!” echoed Francis.
"I would not speak so loud, if I were you,” returned the
other. “But most certainly you have the Rajah's Diamond
in your pocket. I have seen and handled it a score of times
in Sir Thomas Vandeleur's collection."
“Sir Thomas Vandeleur! The General! My father!"
cried Francis.
“Your father?” repeated the stranger. "I was not aware
the General had any family.”
"I am illegitimate, sir," replied Francis, with a flush.
The other bowed with gravity. It was a respectful bow,
as of a man silently apologizing to his equal; and Francis
felt relieved and comforted, he scarce knew why. The society
of this person did him good; he seemed to touch firm ground;
a strong feeling of respect grew up in his bosom, and mechan-
ically he removed his wideawake as though in the presence
of a superior.
"I perceive," said the stranger, "that your adventures have
not all been peaceful. Your collar is torn, your face is
scratched, you have a cut upon your temple; you will, per-
haps, pardon my curiosity when I ask you to explain how
you came by these injuries, and how you happen to have
stolen property to an enormous value in your pocket.” .
"I must differ from you!" returned Francis, hotly. "I pos-
sess no stolen property. And if you refer to the diamond, it
was given to me not an hour ago by Miss Vandeleur in the
Rue Lepic.”
“By Miss Vandeleur of the Rue Lepic!” repeated the
other. "You interest me more than you suppose. Pray con-
tinue.”
"Heavens!” cried Francis.
His memory had made a sudden bound. He had seen Mr.
377


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
Vandeleur take an article from the breast of his drugged
visitor, and that article, he was now persuaded, was a mo-
rocco case.
“You have a light?” inquired the stranger.
"Listen,” replied Francis. “I know not who you are, but
I believe you to be worthy of confidence and helpful; I find
myself in strange waters; I must have counsel and support,
and since you invite me I shall tell you all.”
And he briefly recounted his experiences since the day
when he was summoned from the bank by his lawyer.
“Yours is indeed a remarkable history,” said the stranger,
after the young man had made an end of his narrative; "and
your position is full of difficulty and peril. Many would
counsel you to seek out your father, and give the diamond
to him; but I have other views. Waiter!” he cried.
The waiter drew near.
“Will you ask the manager to speak with me a moment?"
said he; and Francis observed once more, both in his tone
and manner, the evidence of a habit of command.
The waiter withdrew, and returned in a moment with the
manager, who bowed with obsequious respect.
“What,” said he, “can I do to serve you?"
"Have the goodness," replied the stranger, indicating
Francis, “to tell this gentleman my name.”
“You have the honor, sir," said the functionary, address-
ing young Scrymgeour, “to occupy the same table with His
Highness Prince Florizel of Bohemia.”
Francis rose with precipitation, and made a grateful rev-
erence to the Prince, who bade him resume his seat.
“I thank you,” said Florizel, once more addressing the
functionary; "I am sorry to have deranged you for so small
a matter.”
And he dismissed him with a movement of his hand.
“And now," added the Prince, turning to Francis, "give
me the diamond.”
Without a word the casket was handed over.
"You have done right,” said Florizel; "your sentiments
have properly inspired you, and you will live to be grateful
for the misfortunes of to-night. A man, Mr. Scrymgeour,
378


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
may fall into a thousand perplexities, but if his heart be
upright and his intelligence unclouded, he will issue from
them all without dishonor. Let your mind be at rest; your
affairs are in my hand; and with the aid of Heaven I am
strong enough to bring them to a good end. Folloń me,
if you please, to my carriage."
So saying, the Prince arose and, having left a piece of
gold for the waiter, conducted the young man from the café
and along the Boulevard to where an unpretentious brougham
and a couple of servants out of livery awaited his arrival.
“This carriage," said he, “is at your disposal; collect
your baggage as rapidly as you can make it convenient, and
my servants will conduct you to a villa in the neighborhood
of Paris where you can wait in some degree of comfort
until I have had time to arrange your situation. You will
find there a pleasant garden, a library of good authors, a
cook, a cellar, and some good cigars, which I recommend
to your attention. Jerome,” he added, turning to one of the
servants, "you have heard what I say; I leave Mr. Scrym-
geour in your charge; you will, I know, be careful of my
friend.”
Francis uttered some broken phrases of gratitude.
"It will be time enough to thank me,” said the Prince,
"when you are acknowledged by your father and married to
Miss Vandeleur.”
And with that the Prince turned away and strolled lei-
surely in the direction of Montmarte. He hailed the first
passing cab, gave an address, and a quarter of an hour
afterward, having discharged the driver some distance
lower, he was knocking at Mr. Vandeleur's garden-gate.
It was opened with singular precautions by the Dictator
in person.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“You must pardon me this late visit, Mr. Vandeleur,” re-
plied the Prince.
"Your Highness is always welcome,” returned Mr. Van-
deleur, stepping back.
The Prince profited by the open space, and without wait-
ing for his host walked right into the house and opened tnt
379


THE RAJAH’S DIAMOND
I will indicate to you in writing a mission of some impor-
tance in Siam which I destine to your care. And now, sir,
you will answer me in two words whether or not you agree
to these conditions.”
“Your Highness will pardon me," said Mr. Vandeleur, “and
permit me, with all respect, to submit to him two queries?”
“The permission is granted,” replied the Prince.
“Your Highness," resumed the Dictator, “has called Mr.
Scrymgeour his friend. Believe me, had I known he was
thus honored, I should have treated him with proportional
respect.”
"You interrogate adroitly,” said the Prince; "but it will
not serve your turn. You have my commands; if I had
never seen that gentleman before to-night, it would not
render them less absolute."
“Your Highness interprets my meaning with his usual
subtlety," returned Vandeleur. "Once more: I have, unfor-
tunately, put the police upon the track of Mr. Scrymgeour on
a charge of theft; am I to withdraw or to uphold the accu-
sation?”
"You will please yourself,” replied Florizel. “The ques-
tion is one between your conscience and the laws of this
land. Give me my hat; and you, Mr. Rolles, give me my
cane and follow me. Miss Vandeleur, I wish you good-
evening. I judge,” he added to Vandeleur, “that your silence
means unqualified assent.”
"If I can do no better,” replied the old man, "I shall
submit; but I warn you openly it shall not be without a
struggle."
"You are old,” said the Prince; "but years are disgraceful
to the wicked. Your age is more unwise than the youth of
others. Do not provoke me, or you may find me harder
than you dream. This is the first time that I have fallen
across your path in anger; take care that it be the last.”
With these words, motioning the clergyman to follow,
Florizel left the apartment and directed his steps toward
the garden gate; and the Dictator, following with a candle,
gave them light, and once more undid the elaborate fasten-
ings with which he sought to protect himself from intrusion.
381


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
As he was approaching the postern-door by which he al-
ways entered when alone, a man stepped forth from the
shadow and presented himself with an obeisance in the
Prince's path.
“I have the honor of addressing Prince Florizel of Bo-
hemia?" said he.
"Such is my title," replied the Prince. "What do you
want with me?"
"I am,” said the man, "a detective, and I have to present
your Highness with this billet from the Prefect of Police.”
The Prince took the letter and glanced it through by
the light of the street lamp. It was highly apologetic, but
requested him to follow the bearer to the Prefecture with-
out delay.
"In short," said Florizel, “I am arrested."
“Your Highness,” replied the officer, "nothing, I am cer-
tain, could be further from the intention of the Prefect.
You will observe that he has not granted a warrant. It is
mere formality, or call it, if you prefer, an obligation that
your Highness lays on the authorities.”
“At the same time," asked the Prince, “if I were to
refuse to follow you?”
“I will not conceal from your Highness that a consid-
erable discretion has been granted me,” replied the detective
with a bow.
"Upon my word,” cried Florizel, "your effrontery astounds
me! Yourself, as an agent, I must pardon; but your supe-
riors shall dearly smart for their misconduct. What, have
you any idea, is the cause of this impolitic and unconstitu-
tional act? You will observe that I have as yet neither re-
fused nor consented, and much may depend on your prompt
and ingenuous answer. Let me remind you, officer, that this
is an affair of some gravity.”
"Your Highness," said the detective humbly, “General
Vandeleur and his brother have had the incredible presump-
tion to accuse you of theft. The famous diamond, they
declare, is in your hands. A word from you in denial will
most amply satisfy the Prefect; nay, I go further: if your
Highness would so far honor a subaltern as to declare his
384


THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND
ignorance of the matter even to myself, I should ask per-
mission to retire upon the spot.”
Florizel, up to the last moment, had regarded his adven-
ture in the light of a trifle, only serious upon international
considerations. At the name of Vandeleur the horrible truth
broke upon him in a moment; he was not only arrested, but
he was guilty. This was not only an annoying incident-it
was a peril to his honor. What was he to say? What was
he to do? The Rajah's Diamond was indeed an accursed
stone; and it seemed as if he were to be the last victim to
its influence.
One thing was certain. He could not give the required
assurance to the detective. He must gain time.
Hiş hesitation had not lasted a second.
"Be it so," said he, “let us walk together to the Pre-
fecture.”
The man once more bowed, and proceeded to follow
Florizel at a respectful distance in the rear.
“Approach,” said the Prince. “I am in a humor to talk,
and, if I mistake not, now I look at you again, this is not
the first time that we have met."
"I count it an honor," replied the officer, "that your High-
ness should recollect my face. It is eight years since I had
the pleasure of an interview.'
"To remember faces,” returned Florizel, "is as much a
part of my profession as it is of yours. Indeed, rightly
looked upon, a Prince and a detective serve in the same
corps. We are both combatants against crime; only mine
is the more lucrative and yours the more dangerous rank,
and there is a sense in which both may be made equally hon-
orable to a good man. I had rather, strange as you may
think it, be a detective of character and parts than a weak
and ignoble sovereign."
The officer was overwhelmed.
“Your Highness returns good for evil,” said he. “To
an act of presumption he replies by the most amiable con-
descension.”
"How do you know," replied Florizel, “that I am not
seeking to corrupt you?"
(17)
Vol. 1
385


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
“Heaven preserve me from the temptation!” cried the
detective.
“I applaud your answer," returned the Prince. “It is
that of a wise and honest man. The world is a great place
and stocked with wealth and beauty, and there is no limit
to the rewards that may be offered. Such a one who would
refuse a million of money may sell his honor for an empire
or the love of a woman; and I myself, who speak to you,
have seen occasions so tempting, provocations so irresistible
to the strength of human virtue, that I have been glad to
tread in your steps and recommend myself to the grace of
God. It is thus, thanks to that modest and becoming habit
alone,” he added, “that you and I can walk this town to-
gether with untarnished hearts."
“I had always heard that you were brave," replied the
officer, “but I was not aware that you were wise and pious.
You speak the truth, and you speak it with an accent that
moves me to the heart. This world is indeed a place of
trial.”
“We are now,” said Florizel, “in the middle of the bridge.
Lean your elbows on the parapet and look over. As the
water rushing below, so the passions and complications of
life carry away the honesty of weak men. Let me tell you
a story."
“I receive your Highness's commands," replied the man.
And, imitating the Prince, he leaned against the parapet,
and disposed himself to listen. The city was already sunk
in slumber; had it not been for the infinity of lights and the
outline of buildings on the starry sky, they might have been
alone beside some country river.
"An officer," began Prince Florizel, “a man of courage and
conduct, who had already risen by merit to an eminent rank,
and won not only admiration but respect, visited, in an unfor-
tunate hour for his peace of mind, the collections of an In-
dian prince. Here he beheld a diamond so extraordinary for
size and beauty that from that instant he had only one desire
in life: honor, reputation, friendship, the love of country, he
was ready to sacrifice all for this lump of sparkling crystal,
For three years he served this semi-barbarian potentate as
386


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK
BY BROUGHTON BRANDENBURG
Broughton Brandenburg, a young Ohioan,
was educated at Otterbein and Princeton
Universities, became a war correspondent at
twenty, serving in the Spanish-American and
Boer wars, and shortly thereafter attracted
attention as a traveler and sociological inves-
tigator. He studied immigration disguised
as an Italian peasant, and sea-faring life as a
common sailor and stevedore. Then he began to
write sea stories, immigration articles, circus
stories, and occasionally unusually interesting
detective stories. “Lawrence Rand” has been
the central figure in a number of tales nota.
ble for business-like handling of real people.
3
C33


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK*
By BROUGHTON BRANDENBURG
HE telephone bell in the outer office rang, and
opening the switch at the side of my desk I took
up my stand-'phone and answered:
"Hello. Well?”
"Hello, is this Duncan & Betts?” inquired a man's voice
with a slight foreign accent.
“Yes.”
"I want to speak wit Mister Lawrence Duncan.”
“This is Mr. Duncan. What can I do for you?”
“T'is is Mr. Martin Anderson of 196 Gramercy Park.
Yust now while I was eating my breakwast in my rooms
over my real estate office, I was called to my telephone by
Mr. George Rhodes, who is in t'e Municipal Bank. He is a
young man who wants to marry my daughter Marie, and he
called me up to tell me t'at when he opened t'e wault a little
while ago he found t'at since he closed it t'e night before a
package wit more t’an a million dollars in bonds was gone.
He is responsible for t'e wault and no one else, and he
called me up to tell me, and say he did not take it, to tell
Marie t'at, but he wit'drew his request for her hand. Now,
t'en, Mr. Duncan, I don't care one tam about him, but my
daughter must not be made to come in in t'is case wit' t'e
noos-papers or t’e gossip, so I want you to go over to t’e
bank and see him and help him out in every way, yust so he
keep his mout' shut about Marie, and if t’ey lock him up I
want t'at she don't get to see him or no such foolishness.
I send you my check for five hundred t'is morning, and I
want to know all about what you do, at my house to-night.
Will you do it?"
“Yes, I will go over at once," I answered.
“T'at is all. Good-by-"
* Copyright, 1905, by Metropolitan Magazine Co.
391


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK
drawn over the approach to the vault at such times as he
was not inside to get or replace papers or securities or-
dered out on written slip by some one of the officers. He
was sure the bonds could not have been given out by mis-
take on a slip for other securities because the list tallied.
"Then either you took the bonds or they were extracted
from the safe after the time-lock was set, and the time-
lock being all right up to the present minute, you are
facing toward Sing Sing," summarized Rand, tilting his
cigar and spilling salt into his beer.
· Rhodes looked down and swallowed hard at something
in his throat, but could not answer.
“Who made the vault, when and where?” asked Rand.
"Mahler, in 1890, in Cincinnati."
"Hm, is that so—a Mahler vault, eh? Did I understand
you to say the watchman is an old Irishman named Han-
ahan, has been at the bank twenty years and has consider-
able property? How do you know about his property?”
“When I was on accounts he always had fifteen or
twenty thousand on time deposits, and drew some large
checks or made heavy deposits when Mr. Anderson bought
or sold property for him—".
“Whom did you say, Mr. Anderson? The real estate
agent who sent Mr. Duncan to see you?"
"Yes, Mr. Martin Anderson. He is Hanahan's agent.
They were old volunteer firemen together in Williamsburg
shortly after they came to this country.”
"Indeed! How do you know that?”
"Well, one evening shortly after I met Marie, I went to
call on her and she said her father was not at home; that
he was down at our bank chatting with Hanahan and having
a smoke. Then she told me about their having belonged to
the same fire company. After the old man had taken a
dislike to me and threatened to shoot me if I came to the
house again, I used to watch for Hanahan's check, for every
time he drew, I knew he was expecting to see Mr. Anderson
and I would go up to the house. I never missed it.”
Rand smiled as if he enjoyed the humor in the in-
stance. He thought a moment and then said:
397


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK
Suddenly I remembered that I had not learned even the
name of the president of the Municipal Bank, and if Rand
had asked Rhodes at lunch I had let it slip by me. In-
wardly ashamed of my loose methods, compared with
Rand's thorough ones, I hastened to ask of Mr. Steele, as
a by-matter, being sure that he would know. I was at
the door ready to go out when the matter flashed into my
mind.
"By the way, Mr. Steele,” I said, “do you happen to
know the president of the Municipal Bank-"
"J. R. Farrington Smith?” He jerked his head around
sharply toward me as he interrupted me. "Indeed I do."
Then he emitted a short, grating laugh, and continued, look-
ing at me sharply all the while: “How odd I should be
thinking of him also at that moment! Do you know, Mr.
Duncan, that Strauss is or was his broker? Yet, he was on
the short end of Overland very badly; that I know, to my
sorrow.”
He dropped his voice to a confidence-inviting tone, and
said as he leaned forward, motioning me to a chair once
more:
“Come now, Mr. Duncan, why should we dissemble?
You are evidently very well informed in this matter. Did
Smith flop and put up those bonds to go long on Overland?
He made a pretty penny if he did. Honestly, is that the way
he played fast and loose with us?”
I remained standing and put on my hat to further
signify that I was about to go.
"Mr. Steele, to tell the truth, I did not know until a
moment ago that J. R. Farrington Smith is president of the
Municipal Bank. You have just informed me."
He became very stiff in his manner, and turned to his
papers as if already thinking of them, and said quietly:
"Oh, then we are talking to no purpose. Good morn-
ing, Mr. Duncan."
By a short cut and a brisk walk up Nassau Street I
reached the Park Row drug store on the minute of the half
hour. A man was in the telephone booth talking, and
just outside the half-open door was Rand, directing the
399


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK
do any time' if he is clever. I have learned that he was a
favorite employee of Smith's. Let us go over to the Mu-
nicipal.”
At the bank, the man from Mahler's spoke a moment to
the cashier and received his permission to show the vault
to “two prospective customers," and a boy was sent to tell
Rhodes that the visitors had been accorded the courtesy. .
As we passed the president's inner office door, I saw
Smith at his desk and noticed how pale and careworn he
appeared. I saw that Rand observed it also.
Rhodes admitted us to the enclosure, and, according to
Rand's previous instructions, gave us no sign of recognition.
Rand and the man from Mahler's examined the interior of
the electrically lighted vault. The safe man tapped the floor
all around with the stick he carried, sounding for concealed
tunneling, but the inspection was unfruitful. The place was
in perfect order, and the lock responded repeatedly to the
safe man's skilled touch in a way that showed it was in ex-
cellent condition. Rand had been standing still, looking
carefully at everything within range of his keen eyes, strok-
ing his silver-touched hair lightly with one hand in a way
I have observed many times since.
Suddenly he pulled out his watch, looked at the dial of
the time-lock, then at his watch, then at the bank clock, an
electrically regulated affair hung on the wall. The clock
read 2 P. M. to the second.
"I beg pardon,” said Rand to Rhodes. “What time is it
by your watch?”
Rhodes took out his timepiece, and said: “I have two
o'clock flat."
I now noticed that the dial of the time-lock stood 1.58:30.
"When did you notice that the clock of the time-lock was
slow?"
"It is slow, isn't it? Why, I had forgot that. It was last
Monday morning, a week ago. I remember I was a little
late," replied Rhodes.
"Has any one swept in here since?"
Rand asked this with his eyes fixed on a dark corner at
the heel of the right door.
401


BROUGHTON BRANDENBURG
“No, not in the vault.”
Rand stooped and put his hand into the corner. For a
moment I thought he was picking up something, but he
straightened up and brushed his fingers one against the
other as if ridding them of dust, so I knew his hands were
empty.
In a moment he signified he was through and we left
the place, and at the corner parted with the man from
Mahler's. We walked on toward my office.
"What do you make of that?” said Rand suddenly, and
I saw that he was holding something toward me between his
thumb and forefinger. I was sure he had put neither hand
in his pockets since we had left the bank.
The small, bright object was merely a plain, smooth-worn
bit of steel, thinner than a penny, and not as broad, with a
small round hole in the centre. Just a tiny disk of steel.
“Did you pick that up in the vault?” I asked.
“Yes, out of that dark corner by the door."
"Why, how is that? I saw your hands as you rose and
they were empty."
"Oh, no, you were mistaken, just as that man from
Mahler's was. I merely palmed the disk, that is all, so he
could not see it. There is no reason why he should be on
the inside of this case. He thinks too much of his own
cleverness as it is.”
"Well, what is this thing?" I said, slightly irritated at
having been so easily tricked.
“I wish I could answer that question as easily as you ask
it,” replied Rand, and relapsed into silence.
As we entered the building in which I had my office, there
emerged from an elevator car that had just descended a
girl, whose appearance caught my attention. She was at-
tired in a dark street suit that set her small, trim figure to
advantage, but by contrast emphasized the pallor of her face.
Her hair was of that abundant flaxen quality so often seen
in Germans and Scandinavians, and her eyes were large and
dark blue. They were very troubled and it was plain she
had been crying. There was something bravely piteous in
every line of her face. She paused a moment as if half ex-
402


BROUGHTON BRANDENBURG
I have not talked with him since Sunday night a week ago,
when he came to see me at the house."
"How long have you known him?"
"Nearly two years.'
“How did you meet him?"
"Why, he knew papa at the bank, and one day when papa
was ill he sent for George to come up to the house to get
some papers about his accounts and papa introduced us.
When we were first engaged, he did not seem to dislike
George, and often sat talking with him about matters in the
bank and other things.”
"By the way, how old are you, Miss Anderson?"
She did not seem to mind the blunt question and replied
quickly:
“I am twenty-one."
"Were you born in this country?"
“Yes, I was born in New York.”
“Thank you, kindly; that is all,” said Rand, and was
promptly so deep in thought that he barely rose and bowed
as she left a few minutes later. He kept his feet and put
on his hat as if he, too, were going.
“I believe you told me that you were to go to Ander-
son's house to-night and report, did you not?” he asked.
“Yes, I am sorry that I can not make a better showing
both for my client and for Rhodes."
"I suppose you mean that you hoped a man of my repu-
tation would have offered better support to you in yours,"
he observed with a quizzical smile that nettled me as he
walked over to the door.
“I should like to go with you, Mr. Duncan," he continued.
"I will meet you at the northwest corner of Gramercy Park
at eight o'clock. Will you be so kind as to bring young
Rhodes with you?'Phone him at the bank, now, and you
might come prepared for anything in the way of a fight
for-we will close up the case to-night.”
He shut the door and went out. I was wild to call him
back and get an explanation, but pride restrained me.
That evening Rhodes met me by appointment at the
Fifth Avenue Hotel and we walked over to the corner Rand
404


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK
had named. We had been standing there a moment when
a carriage drove up, stopped, and Rand alighted, followed
by J. R. Farrington Smith and the brawny Indian.
I could see by the street light that Smith was very white,
and the Indian kept just at his elbow and a little behind
him as they advanced to meet us. Rand presented me to
Smith, who bowed coldly. If Smith and Rhodes exchanged
salutations I did not notice it. Rand said to me as we
walked along to the house after he had told the cabman to
wait for him:
“Will you kindly ask Mr. Anderson to see Mr. Duncan
and some gentlemen?”.
I was angry with him for a number of small things which
had occurred during the day, but more than ever now for
bringing Smith into the case, and at Anderson's house, a
proceeding which would be sure to involve Anderson and
his daughter in the exposé that must occur in so short a
time.
A little maid admitted us at a door beside Anderson's
real estate office, and passed back along a narrow hall and
up to a well-furnished apartment immediately over the offices.
The maid vanished through portières, and I judged by the
sounds that she found Anderson in the third room to the
rear. I could hear him clearing his throat as he came.
As he stepped through the portières, I saw he was a man
of fifty, of good appearance, short and heavy, with large
hands and a massive jaw. His eyes were very small and
nearly hidden by the overfolding wrinkles about them.
“Good-evening, gentlemen,” he said cheerily, looking
about in a pleasant though puzzled way. I rose and went
forward, saying:
“I am Mr. Duncan, Mr. Anderson. I believe you know
Mr. Smith and Mr. Rhodes. This is Mr. Lawrence Rand,
with whom I have consulted in this matter."
The Indian, whom I scarcely knew how to consider,
whether companion of Rand's or his servant, had stepped
back into the shadow by the portières, and I do not think
Anderson saw him, so I made no reference to him whatever.
I was very busy thinking just what to say and how to say
405


BROUGHTON BRANDENBURG
kan de
re at the briet, eartce of
it, for Rand's bringing Smith with him showed Smith was
informed in part or wholly, and was so unexpected that I
had had no chance to ask him aside just what the situation
was. He left me in no uncertainty. He gracefully super-
seded me in the initiative by drawing back a chair at a
small table in the centre of the room, in the full glow of the
shaded light, and saying:
“Would you mind sitting here, please, Mr. Anderson? I
shall want you to write something in a moment and it will
be more convenient for you.”
Anderson sat down, as requested, and turned his face
toward Rand as if he knew where the power lay. I could
see the arteries in his neck throbbing. I noticed that
Rhodes was very pale, and the bank president was laboring
under great excitement.
“Now, to be brief, gentlemen, we are about to adjust this
matter of the disappearance of twelve hundred thousand dol-
lars' worth of bonds from the vault of the Municipal Bank."
Rand spoke in a soft even voice. I think I was the only
man who moved a muscle. I could see that at least Ander-
son's blood did not quicken any. His eyes may have turned
toward Rhodes. I could not tell. Rand went on:
"Before I say anything further, I wish to remind the
interested parties that I have brought an officer with me
and any violence would be inadvisable.
“Mr. Anderson, you will kindly turn over to Mr. Smith
that packet of 'go government fours. Mr. Smith will give
you a receipt in full. You will also give Mr. Smith your
order on Strauss & Company for four hundred thousand
dollars, which is approximately what Mr. Smith lost when
caught short on Overland Pacific ten days ago, and also
your order to Mr. George Rhodes for the remainder of your
profits when you went long on Overland Pacific this last
week by using the Municipal Bank as an involuntary part-
ner. You will also give your consent to his marriage with
your daughter. Mr. Duncan here will arrange the matter of
fees and that will close the incident. If you do not, Mr.
Smith will prosecute you and I will furnish the evidence. If Mr.
Smith does not perform his share I will, in behalf of Mr. Rhodes,
406


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK
inform the bank directors of his hand in Overland. Kindly do
as I have requested, Mr. Anderson.”
The old fellow never changed color one whit, nor did the
throbbing of the arteries in his neck increase. They dimin-
ished, if anything. A bitter sneer came on his face, and as
he spoke he dropped into very broken English.
“Vot iss diss nonsense, Meester, vot-afer-your nem-iss?
Vot a ni'ice liddle scheme bote Ah don't ma’eke no mohney
baycoss Ah aindt got dey bonts-s—"
Rand held up a forefinger and the old man stopped. He
was now breathing hard and was flushed. Rand drew from
his vest pocket and laid on the table before Anderson the
little steel disk.
Before Rand could speak, the portières parted, and in the
opening stood Marie Anderson, very white and drawn up to
her full height. In one hand she extended the packet with
the typewritten slip still on the end.
"Father,” she said slowly, in a low, tense voice, "here
are the bonds. By accident I just found them in a jar on
the sideboard."
With surprising quickness Anderson drew out a drawer in
the table at which he sat, snatched up a revolver, leaped to
the doorway, thrusting his daughter aside, but as he turned
and fired pointblank at Rand, who had vaulted the table to
reach him, the Indian knocked up the muzzle of the revolver
from behind. The bullet struck the ceiling and the next in-
stant Anderson was on the floor, helpless in the bearlike
clasp of the big red man.
The girl had reeled as if about to faint. Rhodes had
sprung to her assistance, but she recovered herself and
seemed to be anxious to get away from her father, as if
from a reptile. Rhodes led her to the other side of the room.
“Take the gun away from him and set him on the chair
again, Tom,” said Rand, as if nothing had happened. He
returned to his own seat, and we too sat down.
In fifteen seconds the smoke floating about the ceiling
was the only sign of the crisis just passed. Rand began
again:
"In order to give you an opportunity to recover your
407


THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK
to defend Rhodes. In that way you would always know
how close he was on the track of the real thief, Mr. Martin
Anderson. Few men pay attorneys $500 retaining fees to
persuade young men who really love their daughters from
dragging them into a scandal which does not essentially
concern the daughters at best. You were surprised into
this mistake when Rhodes called you up and crystallized
your plan to force your choice of counsel on him too hastily.
"On Sunday night a week ago you went to the bank, as
your duplicate time-lock showed you the steel disk was worn
so thin a jar on the door would cause the standard to drop
and the lock to release. Hanahan, as he told me an hour
ago, went across the street for some tobacco that Sunday
night, leaving you in the bank. In ninety seconds you had
opened the vault, taken the right packet, opened the case of
the time-lock, replaced the disk with a brass one, closed
the case, and closed the vault, but you carelessly dropped
this worn disk on the floor.
"You used the bonds as collateral to buy stock, not as
a speculation, but as an investment that would conceal the
bonds, and by chance chose Overland Pacific at a low figure
and it rose. You thought best to take your profits, and only
your greed prevented you from returning the bonds to Rhodes
by mail. As we have seen, you had not thought long enough
or deeply enough what you would do with your lifetime
harvest after you got it in your hands, and suddenly you
found yourself out of your depth. You hid the bonds in a
jar, just like a foolish old woman. But I must compliment
you on your clear thinking and previous planning. I have
never known of anything so deliberate, and only a phleg-
matic Scandinavian would be capable of it, especially to end
up with such good nerves as you have shown to-night. Mr.
Smith does not wish to prosecute you and expose his specu-
lations. Since Mr. Smith and Mr. Duncan doubtless have
other engagements to-night, kindly write as I requested a
few minutes ago.”
Muttering objurgations in his native tongue, Anderson
wrote the two drafts, Rhodes's being for more than one hun-
dred thousand, and both Rhodes and Smith receipted. Smith
(18)
Vol. 1
409


THE CHRONICLES OF ADDINGTON PEACE*
By B. FLETCHER ROBINSON
THE VANISHED MILLIONAIRE
JAMES PHILLIPS, stood with my back to the
fire, smoking and puzzling over it. It was worth
all the headlines the newspapers had given it;
there was no loophole to the mystery.
Both sides of the Atlantic knew Silas J. Ford. He had
established a business reputation in America that had made
him a celebrity in England from the day he stepped off the
liner. Once in London his syndicates and companies and
consolidations had startled the slow-moving British mind.
The commercial sky of the United Kingdom was overshad-
owed by him and his schemes. The papers were full of praise
and blame, of puffs and denunciations. He was a millionaire;
he was on the verge of a smash that would paralyze the
markets of the world. He was an abstainer, a drunkard, a
gambler, a most religious man. He was a confirmed bach-
elor, a woman hater; his engagement was to be announced
shortly. So was the gossip kept rolling with the limelight
always centred upon the spot where Silas J. Ford happened
to be standing.
And now he had disappeared, vanished, evaporated.
On the night of December 18, a Thursday, he had left
London for Meudon Hall, the fine old Hampshire mansion
that he had rented from Lord Beverley. The two most
trusted men in his office accompanied him. Friday morning
he had spent with them; but at three o'clock the pair had re-
turned to London, leaving their chief behind. From four to
seven he had been shut up with his secretary. It was a hard
time for every one, a time verging upon panic, and at such
times Silas J. Ford was not an idle man.
* Copyright, 1904, in the U. S. A., by the Transatlantic Press Alliance, Ltd.
413


B. FLETCHER ROBINSON
At eight o'clock he had dined. His one recreation was
music, and after the meal he had played the organ in the
picture gallery for an hour. At a quarter past eleven he
retired to his bedroom, dismissing Jackson, his body servant,
for the night. Three-quarters of an hour later, however,
Harbord, his secretary, had been called to the private tele-
phone, for Mr. Ford had brought an extension wire from
the neighboring town of Camdon. It was a London mes-
sage, and so urgent that he decided to wake his chief. There
was no answer to his knock, and on entering the room he
found that Mr. Ford was not in bed. He was surprised, but
in no way suspicious, and started to search the house. He
was joined by a footman, and, a little later, by Jackson and
the butler. Astonishment changed to alarm. Other servants
were roused to aid in the quest. Finally, a party, provided
with lanterns from the stables, commenced to examine the
grounds.
Snow had fallen early in the day, covering the great lawns
in front of the entrance porch with a soft white blanket,
about an inch in thickness. It was the head groom who
struck the trail. Apparently Mr. Ford had walked out of the
porch, and so over the drive and across the lawn toward the
wall that bounded the public road. This road, which led
from Meudon village to the town of Camdon, crossed the
front of Meudon Hall at a distance of some quarter of a mile.
There was no doubt as to the identity of the footprints, for
Silas Ford affected a broad, square-toed boot, easily recog-
nizable from its unusual impression.
They tracked him by their lanterns to the park wall, and
there all trace of him disappeared. The wall was of rough
stone, easily surmountable by an active man. The snow that
covered the road outside had been churned into muddy paste
by the traffic of the day; there were no further footprints
observable.
The party returned to the house in great bewilderment.
The telephone to London brought no explanation, and the
following morning Mr. Harbord caught the first train to
town to make inquiries. For private reasons his friends did
not desire publicity for the affair, and it was not until the
414


THE CHRONICLES OF ADDINGTON PEACE
moment he stepped across the threshold. With a spring like
the rush of a terrier, Addington Peace was upon him, driv-
ing him off his balance with the impact of the blow. Be-
fore I could reach them, the little detective had him down,
though he still kicked viciously until I lent a hand. The
click of the handcuffs on his wrist ended the matter.
It was Ford's valet, the man Jackson.
We were not long by ourselves. I heard a key turned
in the lock, and Ransome burst out of his room into the
corridor like an angry bull. Almost at the same moment
there sounded a quick patter of naked feet from behind us,
and Harbord, the secretary, came running up, swinging a
heavy stick in his hand. They both stopped at the edge
of the patch of light in which we were, staring from us to
the gaping hole in the wall.
"What in thunder are you about?” cried the manager.
"Finding a solution to your problem," said the little
detective, getting to his feet. "Perhaps, gentlemen, you
will be good enough to follow me.”
He stepped through the opening in the wall, and lifted the
candle which the valet had placed on the floor while he was
raising the panel from within. By its light I could see the
first steps of a fight which led down into darkness.
"We will take Jackson with us," he continued. “Keep an
eye on him, Mr. Phillips, if you please.”
It was a strange procession that we made. First Peace,
with the candle, then Ransome, with the valet, following,
while I and Harbord brought up the rear. We descended
some thirty steps, formed in the thickness of the wall,
opened a heavy door, and so found ourselves in a narrow
chamber, some twelve feet long by seven broad. Upon a
mattress at the further end lay a man, gagged and bound.
As the light fell upon his features, Ransome sprang forward,
shouting his name.
"Silas Ford, by thunder!"
With eager fingers we loosened the gag and cut the ropes
that bound his wrists. He sat up, turning his long, thin face
from one to the other of us as he stretched the cramp from
his limbs.
427