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Set up, Printed and Bound at the 
 KINGSPORT PRESS 
 Kincsport TENNESSEE 
 United States of America 
 
Sk3 
 
 BTS 
 
 IF2Lb 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 BEING A REPRINT FROM THE REMINISCENCES oF JoHN H. Watson, 
 M. D., Late oF THE Army MepicaL DEPARTMENT. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 EDS SET IOCK  LLOMNES gg Migiigag ha iene iota maar h ts 1 
 
 Pred Werselence OL, DedgChiOn foo 4 W's ie ie) Boe his cana 9 
 III The Lauriston Gardens Mystery . ... +. +. 20 
 Pyee What Jonnvicance triad to Tell ies oye Se eee a 
 V Our Advertisement Brings a Visitor. . . . 2... 38 
 VI Tobias Gregson Shows What He Can Do. .... 46 
 VII Light in the Darkness . ... CEN SG Uh al ek eri are 
 
 PART II 
 THE CountTRY OF THE SAINTS 
 
 PisGin the Great) Allealt Plas) hie oe eho el kh ac ican OO 
 
 II The Flower of Utah. . . hat enue Stes 
 III John Ferrier Talks With the. Prophet Phir Pun Po yr Er TAAr TE Cle 1 
 BVe As ent: for. Liles) as tes FAN Rea asey or CA 
 
 V The Avenging Angels... : ne ates 
 
 VI A Continuation of the Pendiucenees’ of aes H. 
 Wortacn, Me Dar urate ee ce Hgb etal! te Wor Rake 
 Ear ConclisiOn:<.¢) Fe seek lade einen e yists.e hee LAR 
 
 Mie Captain of the “Pole-Star 4350 6).. si ns ee ee, dee 
 
 J. Habakuk Jephson’s Statement. . . . . +» « « « « - 150 
 The Great Keinplatz Experiment. ........ . 183 
 RAM ArY CePOtl ATCHANEE! ee bores ce Ve wan eek 
 
 PETS OSG LO EHIE SG ia a insur wen c eh ae ices Went a eee 
 
A Study in Scarlet 
 PART I 
 
 BEING A REPRINT FROM THE REMINISCENCES OF JOHN H. 
 WATSON, M. D., LATE OF THE ARMY MEDICAL DEPARTMENT 
 
 CHAPTER: I 
 MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES 
 
 In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medi- 
 cine of the University of London, and proceeded to 
 Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons 
 in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was 
 duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as 
 assistant surgeon. ‘The regiment was stationed in India 
 at the time, and before I could join it the second Afghan 
 war had broken out. On landing at Bombay I learned 
 that my corps had advanced through the passes, and was 
 already deep in the enemy’s country. I followed, how- 
 ever, with many other officers who were in the same 
 situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Can- 
 dahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once 
 entered upon my new duties. 
 
 The campaign brought honors and promotion to many, 
 but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. 
 I was removed from my brigade and attached to the 
 Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of 
 Maiwand. ‘There I was struck on the shoulder by a 
 Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the 
 subclavian artery. JI should have fallen into the hands 
 
 1 
 
2 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion 
 and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw 
 me across a pack-horse and succeeded in bringing me 
 safely to the British lines. 
 
 Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hard- 
 ships which I had undergone, I was removed, with a great 
 train of wounded sufferers, to the base hospital at Pesh- 
 awur. Here I rallied, and had already improved so far 
 as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask 
 a little upon the veranda, when I was struck down by 
 enteric fever, that curse of our Indian possessions. For 
 months my life was despaired of, and when at last I 
 came to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak 
 and emaciated that a medical board determined that not 
 a day should be lost in sending me back to England. I 
 was dispatched, accordingly, in the troop-ship “Orontes,” 
 and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with my 
 health irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a 
 paternal government to spend the next nine months in 
 attempting to improve it. 
 
 I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was there- 
 fore as free as air—or as free as an income of eleven 
 shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. 
 Under such circumstances I naturally gravitated to Lon- 
 don, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and 
 idlers of the empire are irresistibly drained. There I 
 stayed for some time at a private hotel in the Strand, 
 leading a comfortless, meaningless existence, and spend- 
 ing such money as I had considerably more freely than 
 I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances be- 
 come, that I soon realized I must either leave the me- 
 tropolis and rusticate somewhere in the country, or that 
 I must make a complete alteration in my style of living. 
 Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making up 
 my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters in 
 some less pretentious and less expensive domicile. 
 
 On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, 
 I was standing at the Criterion bar, when some.one tapped 
 me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 3 
 
 Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at Bart’s. 
 The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of 
 London is a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In 
 old days Stamford had never been a particular crony 
 of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, 
 in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the 
 exuberance of my joy I asked him to lunch with me at 
 the Holborn, and we started off together in a hansom. 
 
 “Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Wat- 
 son?” he asked, in undisguised wonder, as we rattled 
 through the crowded London streets. “You are as thin 
 as a lath and as brown as a nut.” 
 
 I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had 
 hardly concluded it by the time that we reached our 
 destination. 
 
 “Poor devil!” he said, commiseratingly, after he had 
 listened to my misfortunes. ‘What are you up to now?” 
 
 “Looking for lodgings,” I answered. “Trying to solve 
 the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable 
 rooms at a reasonable price.” 
 
 “That is a strange thing,” remarked my companion; 
 “you are the second man to-day that has used that ex- 
 pression to me.” 
 
 “And who was the first?” I asked. 
 
 “A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory 
 up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself this morn- 
 ing because he could not get some one to go halves with 
 him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which 
 were too much for his purse.” 
 
 “By Jove!” I cried, “if he really wants some one to 
 share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for 
 him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone.” 
 
 Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over 
 his wine-glass. 
 
 “You don’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; “per- 
 haps you would not care for him-as a constant com- 
 panion.” 
 
 “Why, what is there against him?” 
 
 “Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against him. 
 
4; A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthusiast in some 
 branches of science. As far as I know he is a decent 
 fellow enough.” : 
 
 “A medical student, I suppose?” said I. 
 
 “No; I have no idea what he intends to go in for. 
 I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first- 
 class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken 
 out any systematic medical classes. His studies are very 
 desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out- 
 of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his pro- 
 fessors.”’ 
 
 “Did you never ask him what he was going in for?” 
 I asked. 
 
 “No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, 
 though he can be communicative enough when the fancy 
 seizes him.” 
 
 “T should like to meet him,” I said. “If I am to 
 lodge with any one, I should prefer a man of studious 
 and quiet habits. I am not strong enough yet to stand 
 much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in 
 Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural 
 existence. How could I meet this friend of yours?” 
 
 “He is sure to be at the laboratory. He either avoids 
 the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning 
 to night. If you like, we shall drive round together after 
 luncheon.” 
 
 “Certainly,” I answered; and the conversation drifted 
 away into other channels. 
 
 As we made our way to the hospital after leaving the 
 Holborn, Stamford gave me a few more particulars about 
 the gentleman whom I proposed to take as a fellow- 
 lodger. 
 
 “You mustn’t blame me if you don’t get on with 
 him,” he said; “I know nothing more of him than I 
 have learned from meeting him occasionally in the labora- 
 tory. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not 
 hold me responsible.” 
 
 “If we don’t get on it will be easy to part company,” 
 I answered. “It seems to me, Stamford,” I added, look- 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 5 
 
 ing hard at my companion, “that you have some reason 
 for washing your hands of the matter. Is this fellow’s 
 temper so formidable, or what is it? Don’t be mealy- 
 mouthed about it.” 
 
 “Tt is not easy to express the inexpressible,” he an- 
 swered, with a laugh. “Holmes is a little too scientific 
 for my tastes—it approaches to cold-bloodedness. I could 
 imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest 
 vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand, 
 but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have 
 an accurate idea of the effects. To do him justice, 
 I think that he would take it himself with the same 
 readiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and 
 exact knowledge.” 
 
 “Very right, too.” 
 
 “Yes; but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes 
 to beating the subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a 
 stick, it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape.” 
 
 “Beating the subjects!” 
 
 “Yes; to verify how far bruises may be produced after 
 death. I saw him at it with my own eyes.” 
 
 “And yet you say he is not a medical student?” 
 
 “No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies 
 are! But here we are, and you must form your own 
 impressions about him.” 
 
 As he spoke we turned down a narrow lane and 
 passed through a small side door, which opened into a 
 wing of the great hospital. It was familiar ground to 
 me, and I needed no guiding as we ascended the bleak 
 stone staircase and made our way down the long corridor, 
 with its vista of whitewashed wall and dun-colored doors. 
 Near the further end a low, arched passage branched away 
 from it and led to the chemical laboratory. 
 
 This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with 
 countless bottles. Broad, low tables were scattered about, 
 which bristled with retorts, test-tubes, and little Bunsen 
 lamps, with their blue, flickering flames. There was only 
 one student in the room, who was bending over a distant 
 table absorbed in his work. At the sound of our steps 
 
6 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 he glanced round and sprang to his feet with a cry of 
 pleasure. : 
 
 “I’ve found it! I’ve found it!” he shouted to my 
 companion, running toward us with a test-tube in his 
 hand. “I have found a reagent which is precipitated 
 by hemoglobin, and by nothing else.” 
 
 Had he discovered a gold mine greater delight could 
 not have shone upon his features. 
 
 “Dr. Watson—Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said Stamford, 
 introducing us. 
 
 “How are you?” he said, cordially, gripping my hand 
 with a strength for which I should hardly have given 
 him credit. “You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive.” 
 
 “How on earth did you know that?” I asked, in aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 “Never mind,” said he, chuckling to himself. ‘The 
 question now is about hemoglobin. No doubt you see 
 the significance of this discovery of mine?” 
 
 “It is interesting, chemically, no doubt,’ I answered; 
 “but practically ss 
 
 “Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal dis- 
 covery for years. Don’t you see that it gives us an in- 
 fallible test for blood-stains? Come over here, now!” 
 He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness and drew 
 me over to the table at which he had been working. 
 “Let us have some fresh blood,” he said, digging a long 
 bodkin into his finger and drawing off the resulting drop 
 of blood in a chemical pipette. “Now, I add this small 
 quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that 
 the resulting mixture has the appearance of true water. 
 The proportion of blood cannot be more than one in a 
 million. I have no doubt, however, that we shall be able 
 to obtain the characteristic reaction.” 
 
 As he spoke he threw into the vessel a few white 
 crystals, and then added some drops of a transparent 
 fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a dull mahog- 
 any color, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the 
 bottom of the glass jar. 
 
 “Ha! ha!” he cried, clapping his hands and looking 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 7 
 
 as delighted as a child with a new toy. “What do you 
 think of that?” 
 
 “It seems to be a very delicate test,” I remarked. 
 
 “Beautiful! beautiful! The old guaiacum test was very 
 clumsy and uncertain. So is the microscopic examination 
 for blood-corpuscles. The latter is valueless if the stains 
 ‘are a few hours old. Now, this appears to act as well 
 whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been in- 
 vented, there are hundreds of men now walking the earth 
 who would long ago have paid the penalty of their crimes.” 
 
 “Indeed!” I murmured. 
 
 “Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one 
 point. A man is suspected of a crime months, perhaps, 
 after it has been committed. His linen or clothes are 
 examined, and brownish stains discovered upon them. 
 Are they blood-stains, or mud-stains, or rust-stains, or 
 fruit-stains, or what are they? ‘That is a question which 
 has puzzled many an expert; and why? Because there 
 was no reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock Holmes 
 test, and there will no longer be any difficulty.” 
 
 His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his 
 hand over his heart and bowed as if to some applauding 
 crowd conjured up by his imagination. 
 
 “You are to be congratulated,” I remarked, consid- 
 erably surprised at his enthusiasm. 
 
 “There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort 
 last year. He would certainly have been hung had this 
 test been in existence. Then there was Mason, of Brad- 
 ford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre, of Mont- 
 pellier, and Samson, of New Orleans. I could name a 
 score of cases in which it would have been decisive.” 
 
 “You seem to be a walking calendar of crime,” said 
 Stamford, with a laugh. “You might start a paper 
 on those lines. Call it the ‘Police News of the Past.’ ” 
 
 “Very interesting reading it might be made, too,” re- 
 marked Sherlock Holmes, sticking a small piece of plaster 
 over the prick of his finger. “I have to be careful,” he 
 continued, turning to me with a smile, “for I dabble with 
 poisons a good deal.” 
 
8 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 He held out his hand as he spoke, and I noticed that 
 it was all mottled over with similar pieces of ‘plaster 
 and discolored with strong acids. 
 
 “We came here on business,” said Stamford, sitting 
 down on a three-legged stool and pushing another one 
 in my direction with his foot. “My friend here wants 
 to take diggings, and as you were complaining that you 
 could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that 
 [ had better bring you together.” 
 
 Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of shar- 
 ing his rooms with me. 
 
 “I have my eye on a suite in Baker street,” he said, 
 “which would suit us down to the ground. You don’t 
 mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?” 
 
 “T always smoke ‘ship’s’ myself,” I answered. 
 
 “That’s good enough. I generally have chemicals 
 about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that 
 annoy you?” 
 
 “By no means.” 
 
 “Let me see—what are my other shortcomings? I 
 get in the dumps at times, and don’t open my mouth for 
 days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do 
 that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be all right. What 
 have you to confess, now? It’s just as well for two 
 fellows to know the worst of each other before they begin 
 to live together.” 
 
 I laughed at this cross-examination. 
 
 “TI keep a bull-pup,” I said, “and object to rows, be- 
 cause my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts 
 of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have 
 another set of vices when I’m well, but those are the 
 principal ones at present.” 
 
 “Do you include violin-playing in your category of 
 rows?” he asked, anxiously. 
 
 “Tt depends on the player,’ I answered. “A well- 
 played violin is a treat for the gods; a badly played 
 one . 
 
 “Oh, that’s all right,” he cried, with a merry laugh. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 9 
 
 “T think we may consider the thing as settled—that is, 
 if the rooms are agreeable to you.” 
 
 “When shall we see them?” 
 
 “Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll go 
 together and settle everything,” he answered. 
 
 “All right—noon exactly,” said I, shaking his hand. 
 
 We left him working among his chemicals, and we 
 walked together toward my hotel. 
 
 “By the way,” I asked, suddenly, stopping and turning 
 upon Stamford, “how the deuce did he know that I had 
 come from Afghanistan?” 
 
 My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. 
 
 “That’s just his little peculiarity,” he said. “A good 
 many people have wanted to know how he finds things 
 out.” 
 
 “Oh, a mystery, is it?’ I cried, rubbing my hands. 
 “This is very piquant. I am much obliged to you for 
 bringing us together. ‘The proper study of mankind is 
 man,’ you know.” 
 
 “You must study him, then,” Stamford said, as he bid 
 me good-by. “You'll find him a knotty problem, though. 
 I'll wager he learns more about you than you about him. 
 Good-by.”’ 
 
 “Good-by,” I answered; and strolled on to my hotel, 
 considerably interested in my new acquaintance, 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION 
 
 WE met next day, as he had arranged, and inspected 
 the rooms at No. 221 Baker Street, of which he had 
 spoken at our meeting. They consisted of a couple of 
 _ comfortable bedrooms and a single, large, airy sitting- 
 room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated by two broad 
 windows. So desirable in every way were the apart- 
 ments, and so moderate did the terms seem when divided 
 between us, that the bargain was concluded upon the spot, 
 and.we at once entered into possession. That very even- 
 
10 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 ing I had moved my things round from the hotel, and 
 on the following morning Sherlock Holmes followed me 
 with several boxes and portmanteaus. For a day or two 
 we were busily employed in unpacking and laying out 
 our property to the best advantage. That done, we grad- 
 ually began to settle down and to accommodate ourselves 
 to our new surroundings. 
 
 Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. 
 He was quiet in his ways, and his habits were regular. 
 It was rare for him to be up after ten at night, and he 
 had invariably breakfasted and gone out before I rose 
 in the morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the 
 chemical laboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, 
 and occasionally in long walks, which appeared to take 
 him into the lowest portions of the city. Nothing could 
 exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; 
 but now and again a reaction would seize him, and for 
 days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting- 
 room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from 
 morning to night. On these occasions I have noticed 
 such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes, that I might 
 have suspected him of being addicted to the use of some 
 narcotic had not the temperance and cleanliness of his 
 whole life forbidden such a notion. 
 
 As the weeks went by my interest in him and my 
 curiosity as to his aims in life gradually deepened and 
 increased. His very person and appearance were. such 
 as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. 
 In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively 
 lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes 
 were sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of 
 torpor to which I have alluded; and his thin, hawk-like 
 nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and 
 decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and square- 
 ness which mark the man of determination. His hands 
 were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chem- 
 icals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of 
 touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 11 
 
 watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical in- 
 struments. 
 
 The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody 
 when I confess how much this man stimulated my curios- 
 ity, and how often I endeavored to break through the 
 reticence which he showed on all that concerned him- 
 self. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it re- 
 membered how objectless was my life, and how little there 
 was to engage my attention. My health forbade me from 
 venturing out unless the weather was exceptionally 
 genial, and I had no friends who would call upon me and 
 break the monotony of my daily existence. Under these 
 circumstances I eagerly hailed the little mystery which 
 hung around my companion, and spent much of my time 
 in endeavoring to unravel it. 
 
 He was not studying medicine. He had himself, in 
 reply to-a question, confirmed Stamford’s opinion upon 
 that point. Neither did he appear to have pursued any 
 course of reading which might fit him for a degree 
 in science or any other recognized portal which would 
 give him an entrance into the learned world. Yet his 
 zeal for certain studies was remarkable, and within ec- 
 centric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample 
 and minute that his observations have fairly astounded 
 me. Surely no man would work so hard to attain such 
 precise information unless he had some definite end in 
 view. Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the 
 exactness of their learning. No man burdens his mind 
 with small matters unless he has some very good reason 
 for doing so. 
 
 His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. 
 Of contemporary literature, philosophy, and politics he 
 appeared to know next to ‘nothing. Upon my quoting 
 Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he 
 might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a 
 climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was 
 ignorant of the Copernican theory and of the composition 
 of the solar system. That any civilized human being in 
 this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth 
 
12 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 traveled round the sun appeared to be to me such an 
 extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it. 
 
 “You appear to be astonished,” he said, smiling at my 
 expression of surprise. “Now that I do know it, I shall 
 do my best to forget it.” 
 
 “To forget itt” 
 
 “You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain 
 originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock 
 it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in 
 all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that 
 the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded 
 out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, 
 so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. 
 Now, the skillful workman is very careful indeed as to 
 what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing 
 but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but 
 of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most 
 perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little 
 room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. 
 Depend upon it, there comes a time when for every addi- 
 tion of knowledge you forget something that you knew 
 before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not 
 to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.” 
 
 “But the solar system!” I protested. 
 
 “What the deuce is it to me?” he interrupted, im- 
 patiently; “you say that we go round the sun. If we 
 went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth 
 of difference to me or to my work.” 
 
 I was on the point of asking him what that work 
 might be, but something in his manner showed me that 
 the question would be an unwelcome one. I pondered 
 over our short conversation, however, and endeavored to 
 draw my deductions from it. He said that he would 
 acquire no knowledge which did not bear upon his ob- 
 ject. Therefore ali the knowledge which he possessed 
 was such as would be useful to him. I enumerated in 
 my own mind all the various points upon which he had 
 shown me that he was exceptionally well informed. I 
 even took a pencil and jotted them down. I could not 
 
A STUDY mn SCARLET 13 
 
 help smiling at the document when I had completed it. 
 It ran this way: 
 
 SHERLOCK HotmeEs—his limits. 
 
 1. Knowledge of Literature—Nil. 
 
 vm “ Philosophy—Nil. 
 
 i A “ Astronomy—Nil. 
 
 4. 2 “ Politics—Feeble. 
 
 5 Botany—Variable; well up in bella- 
 donna, opium, and poisons gener- 
 ally. Knows nothing of practical 
 gardening. 
 
 Geology—Practical, but limited. Tells 
 at a glance different soils from each 
 other; after walks has shown me 
 splashes upon his trousers, and told 
 me by their color and consistency 
 in what part of London he had re- 
 ceived them. 
 
 Chemistry—Profound. 
 
 Anatomy—Accurate, but unsystematic. 
 
 Sensational Literature—Immense. He 
 appears to know every detail of 
 every horror perpetrated in the 
 century. 
 
 10. Plays the violin well. 
 
 11. Is an expert single-stick player, boxer, and swords- 
 
 man. 
 
 12. Has practical knowledge of British law. 
 
 When I had got so far in my list I threw it into the 
 fire in despair. 
 
 “Tf I cannot find what the fellow is driving at by recon- 
 ciling all these accomplishments, and discovering a calling 
 which needs them all,” I said to myself, “I may as well 
 give up the attempt at once.’ 
 
 I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon 
 the violin. These were very remarkable, but as eccentric 
 as all his other accomplishments. That he could play 
 pieces, and difficult pieces, 1 knew well, because at my 
 
 6é 46 
 
 o\ 
 z 
 z 
 
 6é é¢ 
 6 &é 
 
 6é éé 
 
 SOON 
 
14 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 request he has played me some of Mendelsohn’s Lieder, 
 and other favorites. When left to himself, however, he 
 would seldom produce any music or attempt any recog- 
 nized air. 
 
 Leaning back in his armchair of an evening, he would 
 close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle, which 
 was thrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were 
 sonorous and melancholy; occasionally they were fantastic 
 and cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which 
 possessed him. But whether the music aided those 
 thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of 
 a whim or fancy, was more than I could determine. I 
 might have rebelled against these exasperating solos had 
 it not been that he usually terminated them by playing 
 in quick succession a whole series of my favorite airs, as 
 a slight compensation for the trial upon my patience. 
 
 During the first week or so we had no callers, and I 
 had begun to think that my companion was as friendless 
 a man as I was myself. Presently, however, I found 
 that he had many acquaintances, and those in the most 
 different classes of society. There was one little sallow, 
 rat-faced, dark-eyed fellow who was introduced to me as 
 Mr. Lestrade, and who came three or four times in a 
 single week. One morning a young girl called, fashion- 
 ably dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. The 
 same afternoon brought a gray-headed, seedy visitor, 
 looking like a Jew peddler, who appeared to me to be 
 much excited, and who was closely followed by a slip- 
 shod elderly woman. On another occasion an old white- 
 haired gentleman had an interview with my companion, 
 and on another a railway porter in his velveteen uniform. 
 When any of these nondescript individuals put in an 
 appearance Sherlock Holmes used to beg for the use of 
 the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bedroom. He 
 always apologized to me for putting me to this incon- 
 venience. 
 
 “I have to use this room as a place of business,” he 
 said, “and these people are my clients.” 
 
 Again I had an opportunity of asking him a point- 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 15 
 
 blank question, and again my delicacy prevented me from 
 forcing another man to confide in me. I imagined at 
 the time that he had some strong reason for not ‘alluding 
 to it, but he soon dispelled the idea by coming round to 
 the subject of his own accord. 
 
 It was upon the 4th of March, as I have good reason 
 to remember, that I rose somewhat earlier than usual, 
 and found that Sherlock Holmes had not yet finished his 
 breakfast. The landlady had become so accustomed to 
 my late habits that my place had not been laid nor my 
 coffee prepared. With the unreasonable petulance of 
 mankind I rang the bell and gave a curt intimation that 
 I was ready. Then I picked up a magazine from the 
 table and attempted to while away the time with it, while 
 my companion munched silently at his toast. One of 
 the articles had a pencil-mark at the heading, and I 
 naturally began to run my eye through it. 
 
 Its somewhat ambitious title was ““The Book of Life,” 
 and it attempted to show how much an observant man 
 might learn by an accurate and systematic examination 
 of all that came in his way. It struck me as being a re- 
 markable mixture of shrewdness and absurdity. The 
 reasoning was close and intense, but the deductions ap- 
 peared to me to be far-fetched and exaggerated. The 
 writer claimed by a momentary expression, a twitch of 
 a muscle, or a glance of an eye, to fathom a man’s inmost 
 thoughts. Deceit, according to him, was an impossibility 
 in the case of one trained to observation and analysis. 
 His conclusions were as infallible as so many propositions 
 of Euclid. So startling would his results appear to the 
 uninitiated that, until they learned the process by which 
 he had arrived at them, they might well consider him 
 as a necromancer. 
 
 “From a drop of water,” said the writer, “a logician 
 could infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara 
 without having seen or heard of one or the other. So 
 all life is a great chain, the nature of which is known 
 whenever we are shown a single link of it. Like all 
 other arts, the Science of Deduction and Analysis is one 
 
16 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 which can only be acquired by long and patient study, 
 nor is life long enough to allow any mortal to attain the 
 highest possible perfection in it. Before turning to those 
 moral and mental aspects of the matter which present 
 the greatest difficulties, let the inquirer begin by mastering 
 more elementary problems. Let him, on meeting a fel- 
 low-mortal, learn at a glance to distinguish the history 
 of the man, and the trade or profession to which he 
 belongs. Puerile as such an exercise may seem, it 
 sharpens the faculties of observation and teaches one 
 where to look and what to look for. By a man’s finger- 
 nails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boot, by his trouser-knees. 
 by the callosities of his forefinger and thumb, by his ex- 
 pression, by his shirt-cuffs—by each of these things a 
 man’s calling is plainly revealed. That all united should 
 fail to enlighten the competent inquirer in any case is 
 almost inconceivable.” 
 
 “What ineffable twaddle!” I cried, slapping the maga- 
 zine down on the table; “I’ve never read such rubbish 
 in my life.” 
 
 “What is it?” asked Sherlock Holmes. 
 
 “Why, this article,” I said, pointing at it with my egg- 
 spoon as I sat down to my breakfast. “I see that you 
 have read it, since you have marked it. I don’t deny 
 that it is smartly written. It irritates me, though. It is 
 evidently the theory of some armchair lounger who 
 evolves all these neat little paradoxes in the seclusion of 
 his own study. Itis not practical. I should like to see him 
 clapped down in a third-class carriage on the Under- 
 ground, and asked to give the trades of all his fellow- 
 travelers. I would lay a thousand to one against him.” 
 
 “You would lose your money,” Sherlock Holmes re- 
 marked, calmly. “As for the article, I wrote it myself.” 
 
 “Vou is ‘ 
 
 “Yes; I have a turn both for observation and for 
 deduction. The theories which I have expressed there, 
 and which appear to you to be so chimerical, are really 
 extremely practical—so practical that 1 depend upon them 
 for my bread and cheese.”’ 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 17 
 
 “And how?” I asked, involuntarily. 
 
 “Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose I am 
 the only one in the world. I’m a consulting detective, 
 if you can understand what that is. Here in London we 
 have lots of government detectives and lots of private 
 ones. When these fellows are at fault they come to me, 
 and I manage to put them on the right scent. They lay 
 all the evidence before me, and I am generally able, by 
 the help of my knowledge of the history of crime, to set 
 them straight. There is a strong family resemblance 
 about misdeeds, and if you have all the details of a thou- 
 sand at your finger-ends, it is odd if you can’t unravel 
 the thousand and first. Lestrade is a well-known detec- 
 tive. He got himself into a fog recently over a forgery 
 case, and that was what brought him here.” 
 
 “And these other people?” | 
 
 “They are mostly sent out by private inquiry agencies. 
 They are all people who are in trouble about something, 
 and want a little enlightening. I listen to their story, they 
 listen to my comments, and then I pocket my fee.” 
 
 - “But do you mean to say,” I said, “that without leav- 
 
 ‘Ing your room you can unravel some knot which other 
 men can make nothing of, although they have seen every 
 detail for themselves ?” 
 
 “Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way. Now 
 and again a case turns up which is a. little more complex. 
 Then I have to bustle about and see things with my own 
 eyes. You see, I have a lot of special knowledge which 
 I apply to the problem, and which facilitates matters won- 
 derfully. Those rules of deduction laid down in that 
 article which aroused your scorn are invaluable to me in 
 practical work. Observation with me is second nature. 
 You appeared to be surprised when I told you, on our 
 first meeting, that you had come from Afghanistan.” 
 
 “You were told, no doubt.” 
 
 “Nothing of the sort. I knew you were from Afghan- 
 istan. From long habit the train of thought ran so 
 swiftly through my mind that I arrived at the conclusion 
 without being conscious of intermediate steps. There 
 
18 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 were such steps, however. The train of reasoning ran: 
 “Here is a gentleman of a medical type, but with the air 
 of a military man. Clearly an army doctor, then. He has 
 just come from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that 
 is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are fair. 
 He has undergone hardship and sickness, as his haggard 
 face says clearly. His left arm has been injured. He 
 holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner. Where in the 
 tropics could an English army doctor have seen much 
 hardship and got his arm wounded. Clearly in Afghan- 
 istan.” The whole train of thought did not occupy a 
 second. I then remarked that you came from Afghan- 
 istan, and you were astonished.” 
 
 “Tt is simple enough as you explain it,” I said, smil- 
 ing. “You remind me of Edgar Allen Poe’s Dupin. 
 I had no idea that such individuals did exist outside of 
 stories.” 
 
 Sherlock Holmes rose and lighted his pipe. 
 
 “No doubt you think that you are complimenting me 
 in comparing me to Dupin,” he observed. “Now, in 
 my opinion, Dupin was a very inferior fellow. That trick 
 of his of breaking in on his friends’ thoughts with an 
 apropos remark after a quarter of an hour’s silence is 
 really very showy and superficial. He had some analytical 
 genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such a phe- 
 nomenon as Poe appeared to imagine.” 
 
 “Have you read Gaboriau’s works?” I asked. “Does 
 Lecoq come up to your idea of a detective?” 
 
 Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. 
 
 ““Lecoq was a miserable bungler,” he said, in an angry 
 voice; “he had only one thing to recommend him, and 
 that was his energy. That book made me positively ill. 
 The question was how to identify an unknown prisoner. 
 I could have done it in twenty-four hours. Lecoq took 
 six months or so. It might be made a text-book for 
 detectives to teach what to avoid.” 
 
 I felt rather indignant at having two characters whom I 
 had admired treated in this cavalier style. I walked over 
 to the window, and stood looking out into the busy street. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 19 
 
 “This fellow may be very clever,” I said to myself, “but 
 he is certainly very conceited.” 
 
 “There are no crimes and no criminals in these days,” 
 he said, querulously. ‘What is the use of having brains 
 in our profession? I know well that I have it in me to 
 make my name famous. No man lives or has ever lived 
 who has brought the same amount of study and of natural 
 talent to be detection of crime which I have done. And 
 what is the result? There is no crime to detect, or, at 
 most, some bungling villainy with a motive so transparent 
 that even a Scotland Yard official can see through it.” 
 
 I was still annoyed at his bumptious style of conver- 
 sation. I thought it best to change the topic. 
 
 “I wonder what that fellow is looking for?’ I asked, 
 pointing to a stalwart, plainly dressed individual who 
 was walking slowly down the other side of the street, 
 looking anxiously at the numbers. He had a large blue 
 evelope in his hand, and was evidently the bearer of a 
 message. 
 
 “You mean the retired sergeant of marines,” said 
 Sherlock Holmes. 
 
 “Brag and bounce!” thought I to myself. “He knows 
 that I cannot verify his guess.” 
 
 The thought had hardly passed through my mind when 
 the man whom we were watching caught sight. of the 
 number on our door, and ran rapidly across the roadway. 
 We heard a loud knock, a deep voice below, and heavy 
 steps ascending the stair. 
 
 “For Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he said, stepping into 
 the room and handing my friend the letter. 
 
 Here was’an opportunity of taking the conceit out of 
 him. He little thought of this when. he made that ran- 
 dom shot. 
 
 “May I ask, my lad,” I said, blandly, “what your trade 
 may be?” 
 
 “Commissionaire, sir,’ he said, gruffly. “Uniform. 
 away for repairs.” 
 
 “And you were?” I asked, with a slightly malicious 
 glance at my companion. 
 
20 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 _“A sergeant, sir; Royal Marine Light Infantry, sir. 
 No answer? Right, sir.” 
 
 He clicked his heels together, raised his hand in a 
 salute, and was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER (Til 
 THE LAURISTON GARDENS MYSTERY 
 
 I conress that I was considerably startled by this fresh 
 proof of the practical nature of my companion’s theories. 
 My respect for his powers of analysis increased won- 
 drously. There still remained some lurking suspicion in 
 my mind, however, that the whole thing was a prearranged 
 episode, intended to dazzle me, though what earthly ob- 
 ject he could have in taking me in was past my compre- 
 hension. When I looked at him he had finished reading 
 the note, and his eyes had assumed the vacant, lack-luster 
 expression which showed mental abstraction. 
 
 “How in the world did you deduce that?” I asked. 
 
 “Deduce what?” said he, petulantly. 
 
 “Why, that he was a retired sergeant of marines.” 
 
 “I have no time for trifles,’ he replied, brusquely; 
 then, with a smile, “Excuse my rudeness. You broke 
 the thread of my thoughts; but perhaps it is as well. So 
 you actually were not able to see that that man was a 
 sergeant of marines?” 
 
 “No, indeed.” 
 
 “It was easier to know it than to explain why I know 
 it. If you were asked to prove that two and two made 
 four, you might find some difficulty, and yet you are 
 quite sure of the fact. Even across the street I could 
 see'a great blue anchor tattooed on the back of the fel- 
 low’s hand. That smacked of the sea. He had a military 
 carriage, however, and regulation side-whiskers. There 
 we have the marine. He was a man with some amount 
 of self-importance and a certain air of command. You 
 must have observed the way in which he held his head 
 and swung his cane, A steady, respectable, middle-aged 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 21 
 
 man, too, on the face of him—all facts which led me to 
 believe that he had been a sergeant.” 
 
 “Wonderful!” I ejaculated. 
 
 “Commonplace,” said Holmes, though I thought from 
 his expression that he was pleased at my evident sur- 
 prise and admiration. “I said just now that there were 
 no criminals. It appears that I am wrong—look at this!’ 
 He threw me over the note which the commissionaire had 
 brought. 
 
 “Why,” I cried, as I cast my eye over it, “this is 
 terrible!” 
 
 “It does seem to be a little out of the common,” he 
 remarked, calmly. “Would you mind reading it to me 
 aloud ?” 
 
 This is the letter which I read to him: 
 
 “My Dear Mr. SHERLocK HoLmEs: 
 
 “There has been a bad business during the night at 
 3 Lauriston Gardens, off the Brixton road. Our man 
 on the beat saw a light there about two in the morning, 
 and, as the house was an empty one, suspected that some- 
 thing was amiss. He found the door open, and in the 
 front room, which is bare of furniture, discovered the 
 body of a gentleman, well dressed, and having cards in 
 his pocket bearing the name of ‘Enoch J. Drebber, Cleve- 
 land, Ohio, U. S. A.’ There had been no robbery, nor 
 is there any evidence as to how the man met his death. 
 There are marks of blood in the room, but there is no 
 wound upon his person. We are at a loss as to how 
 he came into the empty house; indeed, the whole affair 
 is a puzzler. If you can come round to the house any 
 time before twelve, you will find me there. I have left 
 everything ‘in statu quo’ until I hear from you. If you 
 are unable to come [ shall give you fuller details, and 
 would esteem it a great kindness if you would favor 
 me with your opinion. 
 “Yours faithfully, 
 
 “ToBIAS GREGSON.” 
 
 “Gregson is the smartest of the Scotland Yarders,” 
 my friend remarked; “he and Lestrade are the pick of 
 
22 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 a bad lot. They are both quick and energetic, but con- 
 ventional—shockingly so. They have their knives into 
 each other, too. They are as jealous as a pair of pro- 
 fessional beauties. There will be some fun over this 
 case if they are both put upon the scent.” 
 
 { was amazed at the calm way in which he rippled on. 
 
 “Surely there is not a moment to be lost,” I cried; 
 “shall I go and order you a cab?” 
 
 “Tam not sure about whether I shall go. I am the 
 most incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoe-leather 
 ——that is, when the fit is on me, for I can be spry enough 
 at times.”’ 
 
 “Why, it is just such a chance as you have been long- 
 ing for.” 
 
 “My dear fellow, what does it matter to me? Sup- 
 posing I unravel the whole matter, you may be sure that 
 Gregson, Lestrade & Co. will pocket all the credit. That 
 comes of being an unofficial personage.” 
 
 “But he begs you to help him,” 
 
 “Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and acknowl- 
 edges it to me; but he would cut his tongue out before 
 he would own it to any third person. However, we may 
 as well go and have a look. I shall work it out on my 
 own hook. I may have a laugh at them, if I have nothing 
 else. Come on!” 
 
 He hustled on his overcoat, and bustled about in a way 
 that showed that an energetic fit had superseded the 
 apathetic one. 
 
 “Get your hat,” he said. 
 
 “You wish me to come?” 
 
 “Yes, if you have nothing better to do.” 
 
 A minute later we were both in a hansom, driving 
 furiously for the Brixton road. 
 
 It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-colored 
 veil hung over the house-tops, looking like the reflection 
 of the mud-colored streets beneath. My companion was 
 in the best of spirits, and prattled away about Cremona 
 fiddles, and the difference between a Stradivarius and an 
 Amati. As for myself, I was silent, for the dull weather 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 23 
 
 and the melancholy business upon which we were en- 
 gaged depressed my spirits. 
 
 “You don’t seem to give much thought to the matter 
 in hand,” I said at last, interrupting Holmes’ musical 
 disquisition. 
 
 “No data yet,’ he answered. “It is a capital mis- 
 take to theorize before you have all the evidence. It 
 biases the judgment.” 
 
 “You will have your data soon,’ I remarked, point- 
 ing with my finger; “this is the Brixton road, and that 
 is the house, if I am not very much mistaken.” 
 
 “So it is. Stop, driver, stop!” We were still a hun- 
 dred yards or so from it, but he insisted upon our alight- 
 ing, and we finished our journey upon foot. 
 
 No. 3 Lauriston Gardens wore an il-omened and 
 minatory look. It was one of four which stood back 
 some little way from the street, two being occupied and 
 two empty. The latter looked out with three tiers of 
 vacant, melancholy windows, which were blank and 
 dreary, save that here and there a “To Let” card had 
 developed like a cataract upon the bleared panes. A 
 small garden sprinkled over with a scattered eruption 
 of sickly plants separated each of these houses from 
 the street, and was traversed by a narrow pathway, 
 yellowish in color, and consisting apparently of a mix- 
 ture of clay and gravel. The whole place was very 
 sloppy from the rain which had fallen through the night. 
 The garden was bounded by a three-foot brick wall, with 
 a fringe of wood rails upon the top, and against this 
 wall was leaning a stalwart police constable, surrounded 
 by a small knot of loafers, who craned their necks and 
 strained their eves in the vain hope of catching some 
 glimpse of the proceedings within. 
 
 I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once 
 have hurried into the house and plunged into a study 
 of the mystery. Nothing appeared to be further from 
 his intention. With an air of nonchalance which, under 
 the circumstances, seemed to me to border upon affecta- 
 tion, he lounged up and down the pavement, and gazed 
 vacantly at the ground, the sky, the opposite houses, and 
 
24 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 — 
 
 the line of railings. Having finished his scrutiny, he 
 proceeded slowly down the path, or, rather, down the 
 fringe of grass which flanked the path, keeping his eyes 
 riveted upon the ground. Twice he stopped, and once 
 I saw him smile and heard him utter an exclamation of 
 satisfaction. There were many marks of footsteps upon 
 the wet, clayey soil, but since the police had been coming 
 and going over it I was unable to see how my companion 
 could hope to learn anything from it. Still, I had had 
 such extraordinary evidence of the quickness of his per- 
 ceptive faculties that I had no doubt that he could see a 
 great deal which was hidden from me. 
 
 At the door of the house we were met by a tall, white- 
 faced, flaxen-haired man, with a notebook in his hand, 
 who rushed forward and wrung my companion’s hand 
 with effusion. | 
 
 “It is indeed kind of you to come,” he said; “I have 
 had everything left untouched.” 
 
 “Except that!” my friend answered, pointing to the 
 pathway. “Ifa herd of buffaloes had passed along there 
 could not be a greater mess. No doubt, however, you 
 had drawn your own conclusions, Gregson, before you 
 permitted this.” 
 
 “T have had so much to do inside the house,” the de- 
 tective said, evasively. “My colleague, Mr. Lestrade, 
 is here. I had relied upon him to look after this.” 
 
 Holmes glanced at me, and raised his eyebrows sar- 
 donically. 
 
 “With two such men as yourself and Lestrade upon 
 the ground, there will not be much for a third party to 
 find out,” he said. 
 
 Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way. 
 
 “I think we have done all that can be done,” he an- 
 swered; “it’s a queer case, though, and I knew your taste 
 for such things.” 
 
 “You did not come here in a cab?’ asked Sherlock 
 Holmes, 
 
 “No, sit.” 
 
 “Nor Lestrade?’ 
 
 VINO, Sit” 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 25 
 
 “Then let us go and look at the room.” 
 
 With this inconsequent remark he strode on into the 
 house, followed by Gregson, whose features expressed 
 his astonishment. 
 
 A short passage, bare planked and dusty, led to the 
 kitchen and offices. Two doors opened out of it to the 
 left and to the right. One of these had obviously been 
 closed for many weeks. The other belonged to the 
 dining-room, which was the apartment in which the 
 mysterious affair had occurred. Holmes walked in, and 
 I followed him with that subdued feeling at my heart 
 which the presence of death inspires. 
 
 It was a large, square room, looking all the larger 
 for the absence of all furniture. A vulgar, flaring paper 
 adorned the walls, but it was blotched. in places with 
 mildew, and here and there strips had become detached 
 and hung down, exposing the yellow plaster beneath. 
 Opposite the door was a showy fireplace, surmounted 
 by a mantlepiece of imitation white marble. On one 
 corner of this stuck the stump of a red wax candle. The 
 solitary window was so dirty that the light was hazy 
 and uncertain, giving a dull-gray tinge to everything, 
 which was intensified by the thick layer of dust which 
 coated the whole apartment. 
 
 All these details I observed afterward. At present my 
 attention was centered upon the single grim, motionless 
 figure which lay stretched upon the boards, with vacant, 
 sightless eyes staring up at the discolored ceiling. It 
 was that of a man about forty-three or forty-four years 
 of age, middle-sized, broad-shouldered, with crisp, curling 
 black hair, and a short, stubby beard. He was dressed 
 in a heavy broadcloth frock-coat and waistcoat, with light- 
 colored trousers and immaculate collar and cuffs. A top- 
 hat, well brushed and trim, was placed upon the floor 
 beside him. His hands were clinched and his arms 
 thrown abroad, while his lower limbs were interlocked, 
 as though his death-struggle had been a grievous one. 
 On his rigid face there stood an expression of horror, 
 and, as it seemed to me, of hatred, such as I] have never 
 seen upon human features. This malignant and ter- 
 
26 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 rible contortion, combined with the low forehead, blunt 
 nose, and prognathous jaw, gave the dead man a singu- 
 larly simous and ape-like appearance, which was in- 
 creased by his writhing, unnatural posture. I have seen 
 death in many forms, but never has it appeared to me 
 in a more fearsome aspect than in that dark, grimy apart- 
 ment, which looked out upon one of the main arteries 
 of suburban London. Lestrade, lean and ferret-like 
 as ever, was standing by the doorway, and greeted my 
 companion and myself. 
 
 “This case will make a stir, sir,’ he remarked. “It 
 beats anything I have seen, and I am no chicken,” 
 
 “There is no clew,”’ said Gregson. 
 
 “None at all,” chimed in Lestrade. 
 
 Sherlock Holmes approached the body, and, kneeling 
 down, examined it intently. 
 
 “You are sure that there is no wound?” he asked, 
 pointing to numerous gouts and splashes of blood which 
 lay all around. 
 
 “Positive!” cried both detectives. 
 
 “Then, of course, this blood belongs to a second in- 
 dividual—presumably the murderer, if murder has been 
 committed. It reminds me of the circumstances attendant 
 on the death of Van Jansen, in Utrecht, in the year 734. 
 Do you remember the case, Gregson?” 
 
 CNG, UST. 
 
 “Read it up—you really should. There is nothing 
 new under the sun. It has all been done before.” 
 
 As he spoke his nimble fingers were flying here, there, 
 and everywhere, feeling, pressing, unbuttoning, examin- 
 ing, while his eyes wore the same far-away expression 
 which I have already remarked upon. So swiftly was 
 the examination made that one would hardly have guessed 
 the minuteness with which it was conducted. Finally 
 he sniffed the dead man’s lips, and then glanced at the 
 soles of his patent-leather boots. 
 
 “He has not been moved at all?” he asked: 
 
 “No more than was necessary for the purpose of our 
 examination.” " 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 27 
 
 “You can take him to the mortuary now,” he said. 
 “There is nothing more to be learned.” 
 
 Gregson had a stretcher and four men at hand. At 
 his call they entered the room, and the stranger was lifted 
 and carried out. As they raised him a ring tinkled down 
 and rolled across the floor. Lestrade grabbed it up and 
 
 stared at it with mystified eyes. 
 _ “There’s been a woman here,” he cried. “It’s a wo- 
 man’s wedding ring.” 
 
 He held it out as he spoke upon the palm of his hand. 
 We all gathered round him and gazed at it. There could 
 be no doubt that that circle of plain gold had once adorned 
 the finger of a bride. 
 
 “This complicates matters,” said Gregson. “Heaven 
 knows, they were complicated enough before!” 
 
 “You’re sure it doesn’t simplify them?’ observed 
 Holmes. “There’s nothing to be learned by staring at 
 it. What did you find in his pockets?” 
 
 “We have it all here,” said Gregson, pointing to a litter 
 of objects upon one of the bottom steps of the stairs. 
 “A gold watch, No. 97,163, by Barraud, of London; gold 
 Albert chain, very heavy and solid; gold ring, with 
 Masonic device; gold pin, bulldog’s head, with rubies as 
 eyes; Russian-leather card-case, with cards of Enoch J. 
 Drebber, of Cleveland, corresponding with the E. J. D. 
 upon the linen; no purse, but loose money to the extent 
 of seven pounds thirteen; pocket edition of Boccaccio’s 
 ‘Decameron, with name of Joseph Stangerson upon 
 the fly-leaf; two letters, one addressed to E. J. Drebber 
 and one to Joseph Stangerson.” 
 
 “At what address?” 
 
 “American Exchange, Strand; to be left till called for. 
 They are both from the Guion Steamship Company, and 
 refer to the sailing of their boats from Liverpool. It 
 is clear that this unfortunate man was about to return 
 to New York.” 
 
 “Have you made any inquiries as to this man Stan- 
 gerson?” 
 
 “T did it at once, sir,” said Gregson. “I have had 
 
28 ‘A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 advertisements sent to all the newspapers, and one of 
 my men has gone to the American Exchange, but he has 
 not returned yet.” 
 
 “Have you sent to Cleveland?” 
 
 “We telegraphed this morning.” 
 
 “How did you word your inquiries?” 
 
 “We simply detailed the circumstances, and said that 
 we should be glad of any information which could help 
 us.” 
 “You did not ask for particulars on any point which 
 appeared to you to be crucial ?” 
 
 “T asked about Stangerson.”’ 
 
 “Nothing else? Is there no circumstance on which 
 this whole case appears to hinge? Will you not tele- 
 graph again?” 
 
 “T have said all I have to say,” said Gregson, in an 
 offended voice. 
 
 Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, and appeared 
 to be about to make some remark, when Lestrade, who 
 
 had been in the front room while we were holding this 
 
 conversation in the hall, reappeared upon the scene, rub-~ 
 bing his hands in a pompous and self-satisfied manner. 
 
 “Mr. Gregson,” he said, “I have just made a discov- 
 ery of the highest importance, and one which would have 
 been overlooked had I not made a careful examination 
 of the walls.” : 
 
 The little man’s eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he was 
 evidently in a state of suppressed exultation at having 
 scored a point against his colleague. 
 
 “Come here,” he said, bustling back into the room, 
 the atmosphere of which felt cleaner since the removal 
 of its ghastly inmate. “Now, stand there!” 
 
 He struck a match on his boot and held it up against 
 the wail. 
 
 “Look at that!’ he said, triumphantly. 
 
 I have remarked that the paper had fallen away in 
 parts. In this particular corner of the room a large 
 piece had peeled off, leaving a yellow square of coarse 
 plastering. Across this bare space there was scrawled 
 in blood-red letters a single word: 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 29 
 
 RACHE 
 
 “What do you think of that?’ cried the detective, 
 with the air of a showman exhibiting his show. “This 
 was overlooked because it was in the darkest corner of 
 the room, and no one thought of looking there. The 
 murderer has written it with his or her own blood. See 
 this smear where it has trickled down the wall! That 
 disposes of the idea of suicide, anyhow. Why was that 
 corner chosen to write it on? I will tell you. See that 
 candle on the mantlepiece? It was lighted at the time, 
 and if it was lighted this corner would be the brightest 
 instead of the darkest portion of the wall.” 
 
 “And what does it mean, now that you have found it?” 
 asked Gregson, in a depreciatory voice. 
 
 “Mean? Why, it means that the writer was going 
 to put the female name Rachel, but was disturbed be- 
 fore he or she had time to finish. You mark my words, 
 when this case comes to be cleared up you will find that 
 a woman named Rachel has something to do with it. It’s 
 all very well for you to laugh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. 
 You may be very smart and clever, but the old hound is 
 the best, when all is said and done.” 
 
 “T really beg your pardon,” said my companion, who 
 had ruffled the little man’s temper by bursting into an 
 explosion of laughter. “You certainly have the credit 
 of being the first of us to find this out, and, as you say, 
 it bears every mark of having been written by the other 
 participant in last night’s mystery. I have not had time 
 to examine this room yet, but with your permission I 
 shall do so now.” 
 
 As he spoke he whipped a tape-measure and a large 
 round magnifying glass from his pocket. With these 
 two implements he trotted noiselessly about the room, 
 sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and once lying 
 flat upon his face. So engrossed was he with his occupa- 
 tion that he appeared to have forgotten our presence, 
 for he chattered away to himself under his breath the 
 whole time, keeping up a running fire of exclamations, 
 groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive of encourage- 
 
30 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 ment and of hope. As I watched him I was irresistibly 
 reminded of a pure-blooded, well-trained foxhound as 
 it dashes backward and forward through the covert, 
 whining in its eagerness, until it comes across the lost 
 scent. For twenty minutes or more he continued his 
 researches, measuring with the most exact care the dis- 
 tance between marks which were entirely invisible to me, 
 and occasionally applying his tape to the walls in an 
 equally incomprehensible manner. In one place he gath- 
 ered very carefully a little pile of gray dust from the floor, 
 and packed it away in an envelope. Finally he examined 
 with his glass the word upon the wall, going over every 
 letter of it with the most minute exactness. This done, 
 he appeared to be satisfied, for he replaced his tape and 
 his glass in his pocket. 
 
 “They say that genius is an infinite capacity for tak- 
 ing pains,” he remarked, with a smile. “It’s a very bad 
 definition, but it does apply to detective work.” 
 
 Gregson and Lestrade had watched the manceuvres of 
 their amateur companion with considerable curiosity and 
 some contempt. They evidently failed to appreciate the 
 fact, which I had begun to realize, that Sherlock Holmes’ 
 smallest actions were all directed toward some definite 
 and practical end. 
 
 “What do you think of it, sir?” they both asked. 
 
 “It would be robbing you of the credit of the case if 
 I were to presume to help you,’ remarked my friend. 
 “You are doing so well now that it would be a pity for 
 any one to interfere.” There was a world of sarcasm 
 in his voice as he spoke. “If you will let me know how 
 your investigations go,” he continued, “I shall be happy 
 to give you any help I can. In the meantime I should 
 like to speak to the constable who found the body. Can 
 you give me his name and address?” 
 
 Lestrade glanced at his notebook. 
 
 “John Rance,” he said. “He’s off duty now. You 
 ps find him at 46 Audley Court, Kennington Park 
 
 ate.” 
 
 Holmes took a note of the address. “Come along, 
 doctor,” he said; “we shall go and look him up. I'll 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 31 
 
 tell you one thing which may help you in the case,” he 
 continued, turning to the two detectives. “There has 
 been murder done, and the murderer was a man. He 
 was more than six feet high, was in the prime of life, 
 had small feet for his height, wore coarse, square-toed 
 boots, and smoked a Trichinopoly cigar. He came here 
 with his victim in a four-wheeled cab, which was drawn 
 by a horse with three old shoes, and one new one on 
 his off fore-leg. In all probability the murderer had a 
 florid face, and the finger nails of his right hand were 
 remarkably long. These are only a few indications, but 
 they may assist you.” 
 
 Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an 
 incredulous smile. 
 
 “Tf this man was murdered, how was it done?” asked 
 the former. 
 
 “Poison,” said Sherlock Holmes, curtly, and strode 
 off. “One other thing, Lestrade,” he added, turning 
 round at the door: “ ‘Rache’ is the German for ‘revenge’ ; 
 so don’t lose your time looking for Miss Rachel.” 
 
 With which Parthian shot he walked away, leaving 
 the two rivals open-mouthed behind him, 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 WHAT JOHN RANCE HAD TO TELL 
 
 Ir was one o'clock when we left No. 3 Lauriston 
 Gardens. Sherlock Holmes led me to the nearest tele- 
 graph office, whence he dispatched a long telegram. He 
 then hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to take us to 
 the address given us by Lestrade. 
 
 “There is nothing like first-hand evidence,” he re- 
 marked; “as a matter of fact, my mind is entirely made 
 up upon the case, but still we may as well learn all that 
 is to be learned.” 
 
 “You amaze me, Holmes,” said I. “Surely you are 
 not as sure as you pretend to be of all those particulars 
 which you gave.” 
 
 “There’s no room for a mistake,” he answered. “The 
 
32 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 ~_ 
 
 very first thing which I observed on arriving there was — 
 that a cab had made two ruts with its wheels close to the 
 curb. Now, up to last night, we have had no rain for a 
 week, so that those wheels, which left such a deep im- 
 pression, must have been there during the night. There 
 were the marks of a horse’s hoofs, too, the outline of one 
 of which was far more clearly cut than that of the other 
 three, showing that that was a new shoe. Since the cab 
 was there after the rain began, and was not there at any 
 time during the morning—I have Gregson’s word for it— 
 it follows that it must have been there during the night, 
 and, therefore, that it brought those two individuals to 
 the house.” 
 
 “That seems simple enough,” said I; “but how about 
 the other man’s height ?” 
 
 “Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten, 
 can be told from the length of his stride. It is a sim- 
 ple calculation enough, though there is no use my bor- 
 ing you with figures. I had this fellow’s stride, both on 
 the clay outside and on the dust within. Then I had a 
 way of checking my calculation. When a man writes 
 on a wall, his instinct leads him to write about the level 
 of his own eyes. Now, that writing was just over six 
 feet from the ground. It was child’s play.” 
 
 “And his age?’ I asked. 
 
 “Well, if a man can stride four and a half feet with- 
 out the smallest effort, he can’t be quite in the sere and 
 yellow. That was the breadth of a puddle on the gar- 
 den walk which he had evidently walked across. Pat- 
 ent-leather boots had gone round and Square-toes had 
 hopped over. There is no mystery about it at all. I 
 am simply applying to ordinary life a few of those pre- 
 cepts of observation and deduction which I advocated 
 in that article. Is there anything else that puzzles you?’ 
 
 “The finger nails and the Trichinopoly,” I suggested. 
 
 “The writing on the wall was done with a man’s fore- 
 finger dipped in blood. My glass allowed me to observe 
 that the plaster was slightly scratched in doing it, which 
 would not have been the case if the man’s nail had been 
 trimmed. I gathered up some scattered ashes from the 
 
A STUDY. IN SCARLET 33 
 
 floor. It was dark in color and flaky—such an ash as is 
 only made by a Trichinopoly. I have made a special 
 study of cigar ashes—in fact, I have written a mono- 
 graph upon the subject. I flatter myself that I can dis- 
 tinguish at a glance the ash of any known brand either 
 of cigar or tobacco. It is in just such details that the 
 skilled detective differs from the Gregson and Lestrade 
 type.” 
 
 “And the florid face?” I asked. 
 
 “Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I have no 
 doubt that I was right. You must not ask me that at 
 the present state of the affair.” / 
 
 I passed my hand over my brow. 
 
 “My head is in a whirl,’ I remarked; “the more one 
 thinks of it, the more mysterious it grows. How came 
 these two men—if there were two men—into an empty 
 house? What has become of the cabman who drove 
 them? How could one man compel another to take poi- 
 son? Where did the blood come from? What was the 
 object of the murderer, since robbery had no part in it? 
 How came the woman’s ring there? Above all, why 
 should the second man write up the German word ‘Rache’ 
 before decamping? I confess that I cannot see any pos- 
 sible way of reconciling these facts.” 
 
 My companion smiled approvingly. 
 
 “You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly 
 and well,” he said. ‘There is much that is still obscure, 
 though I have quite made up my mind on the main facts. 
 As to poor Lestrade’s discovery, it was simply a blind 
 intended to put the police upon a wrong track, by sug- 
 gesting socialism and secret societies. It was not done 
 by a German. The A, if you noticed, was printed some- 
 what after the German fashion. Now, a real German 
 invariably prints in the Latin character, so that we may 
 safely say that this was not written by one, but by a 
 clumsy imitator, who overdid his part. It was simply a 
 ruse, to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. I’m not 
 going to tell you much more of the case, doctor. You 
 know a conjurer gets no credit when once he has ex- 
 plained his trick, and if I show you too much of my 
 
34 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 method of working, you will come to the conclusion that 
 I am a very ordinary individual after all.” 
 
 “T shall never do that,” I answered; “‘you have brought 
 detection as near an exact science as it ever will be brought 
 in this world.” 
 
 My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words 
 and the earnest way in which I uttered them. I had 
 already observed that he was as sensitive to flattery on 
 the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty. 
 
 “Tl tell you one other thing,” he said. “Patent-leathers 
 and Square-toes came in the same cab, and they walked 
 down the pathway together as friendly as possible— 
 arm-in-arm, in all probability. When they got inside 
 they walked up and down the room—or, rather, Patent- 
 leathers stood still, while Square-toes walked up and 
 down. I could read all that in the dust; and I could 
 read that, as he walked, he grew more and more ex- 
 cited. That is shown by the increased length of his 
 strides. He was talking all the while, and working him- 
 self up, no doubt, into a fury. Then the tragedy oc- 
 curred. I’ve told you all I know myself, now, for the 
 rest is mere surmise and conjecture. We have a good 
 working basis, however, on which to start. We must 
 hurry up, for I want to go to Halle’s concert, to hear 
 Norman Neruda, this afternoon.” 
 
 This conversation had occurred while our cab had been 
 threading its way through a long succession of dingy 
 streets and dreary by-ways. In the dingiest and drear- 
 iest of them our driver suddenly came to a stand. 
 
 “That’s Audley Court in there,’ he said, pointing to a 
 narrow slit in the line of a dead-colored brick. “You'll 
 find me here when you come back.” 
 
 Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The nar- 
 row passage led us into a quadrangle paved with flags and 
 lined by sordid dwellings. We picked our way among 
 groups of dirty children and through lines of discolored 
 linen until we came to No. 46,,the door of which was 
 decorated with a small slip of brass, on which the name 
 Rance was engraved. On inquiry we found that the 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 35 
 
 constable was in bed, and we were shown into a little 
 front parlor to await his coming. 
 
 He appeared presently, looking a little irritable at being 
 disturbed in his slumbers. 
 
 “T made my report at the office,” he said. 
 
 Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and 
 played with it pensively. 
 
 “We thought that we should like to hear it all from 
 your own lips,” he said. 
 
 “JT shall be most happy to tell you anything I can,” the 
 constable answered, with his eyes upon the little golden 
 disk. 
 
 “Just let me hear it all in your own way, as it occurred.” 
 
 Rance sat down on the horse-hair sofa and knitted his 
 brows, as though determined not to omit anything in 
 his narrative. 
 
 “Tl tell it ye from the beginning,” he said. “My time 
 is from ten at night to six in the morning. At eleven 
 there was a fight at the White Hart; but, bar that, all 
 was quiet enough on the beat. At one o’clock it began 
 to rain, and I met Harry Murcher—him who has the 
 Holland Grove beat—and we stood together at the cor- 
 ner of Henrietta Street a-talkin’, Presently—maybe 
 about two, or a little after—I thought I would take a 
 look round, and see that all was right down the Brixton 
 Road. It was precious dirty and lonely. Not a soul did 
 I meet all the way down, though a cab or two went 
 past me. I was a-strollin’ down, thinkin’, between our- 
 selves, how uncommon handy a four of gin hot would 
 be, when suddenly a glint of light caught my eye in the 
 window of that same house. Now, I knew that them 
 two houses in Lauriston Gardens was empty on account 
 of him that owns them, who won’t have the drains seed 
 to, though the very last tenant what lived in one of them 
 died o’ typhoid fever. I was knocked all in a heap, there- 
 fore, at seeing a light in the window, and I suspected 
 as something was wrong. When I got to the door 
 
 “You stopped, and then walked back to the garden 
 gate,” my companion interrupted. “What did you do 
 that for?” 
 
36 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 Rance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sherlock 
 Holmes, with the utmost amazement upon his features. 
 
 “Why, that’s true, sir,’ he said; “though how you 
 come to know it, Heaven only knows! Ye see, when 
 I got up to the door, it was so still and so lonesome that 
 I thought I’d be none the worse for some one with me. 
 I ain’t afeard of anything on this side o’ the grave; but 
 I thought that maybe it was him that died 0’ the typhoid, 
 inspecting the drains what killed him. The thought gave 
 me a kind o’ turn, and I walked back to the gate to see 
 if I could see Murcher’s lantern, but there wasn’t no 
 sign of him nor of any one else.” 
 
 “There was no one in the street ?” . 
 
 “Not a livin’ soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then 
 I pulled myself together and went back and pushed the 
 door open. All was quiet inside, so I went into the room © 
 where the light was a-burnin’, There was a candle flick- 
 erin’ on the mantelpiece—a red wax one—and by its light 
 I saw ig 
 
 “Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round 
 the room several times, and you knelt down by the body, 
 and then you walked through and tried the kitchen door, 
 and then 
 
 John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face 
 and suspicion in his eyes. 
 
 “Where was you hid to see all that?” he cried. “It 
 seems to me that you knows a deal more than you 
 should.” 
 
 Holmes laughed, and threw his card across the table 
 to the constable. 
 
 “Don’t get arresting me for the murder,” he. said. 
 Len, one ie; the hounds, and not the wolf; Mr. Greg- 
 son or Mr. Lestrade will answer for that, Go on, 
 though. What did you do next?’ 
 
 Rance resumed his seat, without, however, losing his 
 mystified expression. 
 
 “I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. 
 That brought Murcher and two more to the spot.” 
 
 “Was the street empty then?” 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 37 
 
 “Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any 
 good goes.” 
 
 “What do you mean?” 
 
 The constable’s features broadened into a grin. 
 
 “T’ve seen many a drunk chap in my time,” he said, 
 “but never any one so cryin’ drunk as that cove. He 
 was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin’ up agin the 
 railin’s and a-singin’ at the pitch of his lungs about 
 Columbine’s new-fangled banner, or some such stuff. He 
 couldn’t stand, far less help.” 
 
 “What sort of a man was he?” asked Sherlock Holmes. 
 
 John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this 
 digression. 
 
 “He was an uncommon drunk sort o’ man,” he said. 
 “He’d ha’ found hisself in the station if we hadn’t been 
 so took up.” 
 
 “His face—his dress—didn’t you notice them?’ 
 Holmes broke in, impatiently. 
 
 “T should think I did notice them, seeing that I had 
 to prop him up—me and Murcher between us. He was 
 a long chap, with a red face, the lower part muffled 
 round G 
 
 “That will do,’ cried Holmes. ‘“‘What became of 
 him?” 
 
 “We'd enough to do without lookin’ after him,” the 
 policeman said, in an aggrieved voice. “I'll wager he 
 found his way home all right.” 
 
 “How was he dressed?” 
 
 “A brown overcoat.” 
 
 “Had he a whip in his hand?” 
 
 “A whip? no.” 
 
 “He must have left it behind,’ muttered my compan- 
 ion. “You didn’t happen to see or hear a cab after that?” 
 
 NO. 
 
 “There’s a half-sovereign for you,’ my companion 
 said, standing up and taking his hat. “I am afraid, Rance, 
 that you will never rise in the force. That head of 
 yours should be for use as well as ornament. You 
 might have gained your sergeant’s stripes last night. The 
 man whom you held in your hands is the man who holds 
 
38 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 the clue of this mystery, and whom we are seeking. 
 There is no use of arguing about it now; I tell you 
 that it is so. Come along, doctor.” 
 
 We started off for the cab together, leaving our in- 
 formant incredulous, but obviously uncomfortable. 
 
 “The blundering fool!’ Holmes said, bitterly, as we 
 drove back to our lodgings. “Just to think of his having 
 such an incomparable bit of good luck, and not taking 
 advantage of it.” 
 
 “I am rather in the dark still. It is true that the de- 
 scription of this man tallies with your idea of the second 
 party in this mystery. But why should he come back to 
 the house after leaving it? This is not the way of crim- 
 inals.”’ 
 
 “The ring, man, the ring; that was what he came back 
 for. If we have no other way of catching him, we can 
 always bait our line with the ring. I shall have him, 
 doctor—l'll lay you two to one that I have him. I must 
 thank you for it all; I might not have gone but for you, 
 and so have missed the finest study I ever came across—a 
 study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn’t we use a little art 
 jargon? There’s the scarlet thread of murder running 
 through the colorless skein of life, and our duty is to 
 unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it. And 
 now for lunch, and then for Norman Neruda. Her attack 
 and her bowing are splendid. What's that little thing of 
 Chopin’s she plays so magnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira- 
 lay.” 
 
 Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound car- 
 oled away like a lark, while I meditated upon the many- 
 sidedness of the human mind. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 OUR ADVERTISEMENT BRINGS A VISITOR 
 
 Our morning’s exertions had been too much for my 
 weak health, and I was tired out in the afternoon. After 
 Holmes’ departure for the concert I lay down upon the 
 sofa and endeavored to get a couple of hours’ sleep. It 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 39 
 
 was a useless attempt. My mind had been too much 
 excited by all that had occurred, and the strangest fan- 
 cies and surmises crowded into it. Every time that I 
 closed my eyes I saw before me the distorted, baboon-like 
 countenance of the murdered man. So sinister was the 
 impression which that face produced upon me that I found 
 it difficult to feel anything but gratitude for him who had 
 removed its owner from the world. If ever human fea- 
 tures bespoke vice of the most malignant type, they were 
 certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland. Still, 
 I recognized that justice must be done, and that the de- 
 ptavity of the victim was no condonement in the eyes of 
 the law. 
 
 The more I thought of it the more extraordinary did 
 my companion’s hypothesis, that the man had been poi- 
 soned, appear. I remembered how he had sniffed his 
 lips, and had no doubt that he had detected something 
 which had given rise to the idea. Then, again, if not 
 poison, what had caused the man’s death, since there was 
 neither wound nor marks of strangulation? But, on the 
 other hand, whose blood was that which lay so thickly 
 upon the floor? There were no signs of a struggle, nor 
 had the victim any weapon with which he might have 
 wounded an antagonist. As long as all these questions 
 were unsolved I felt that sleep would be no easy matter, 
 either for Holmes or myself. His quiet, self-confident 
 manner convinced me that he had already formed a theory 
 which explained all the facts, though what it was I could 
 not for an instant conjecture. 
 
 He was very late in returning—so late that I knew that 
 the concert could not have detained him all the time. 
 Dinner was on the table before he appeared. 
 
 “Tt was magnificent,” he said, as he took his seat. “Do 
 you remember what Darwin says about music? He claims 
 that the power of producing and appreciating it existed 
 among the human race long before the power of speech 
 was arrived at. Perhaps that is why we are so subtly 
 influenced by it. There are vague memories in our souls 
 of those misty centuries when the world was in its child- 
 hood.” 
 
40 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “That’s rather a broad idea,” I remarked. 
 
 “One’s ideas must be as broad as Nature if they are 
 to interpret Nature,” he answered. ‘“What’s the matter? 
 You're not looking quite yourself. This Brixton Road 
 affair has upset you.” 
 
 “To tell the truth, it has,” I said. (“2 @upht to be 
 more case-hardened after my Afghan experiences. I 
 saw my own comrades hacked to pieces at Maiwand with- 
 out losing my nerve.” 
 
 “TI can understand. There is a mystery about this 
 which stimulates the imagination; where there is no im- 
 agination there is no horror. Have you seen the evening © 
 paper ?” 
 
 Ne 
 
 “It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It does 
 not mention the fact that when the man was raised up a 
 woman’s wedding ring fell upon the floor. It is just as 
 well it does. not.” 
 
 “Why e? 
 
 “Look at this advertisement,’ he answered. “I had 
 one sent to every paper this morning immediately after 
 the affair.” 
 
 He threw the paper across to me, and I glanced at the 
 place indicated. It was the first announcement in the 
 “Found’’ column. 
 
 “In Brixton Road,” it ran, “a plain gold wedding ring, 
 found in the roadway between the White Hart Tavern 
 and Holland Grove. Apply Dr. Watson, 221B Baker 
 Street, between eight and nine this evening.” 
 
 “Excuse my using your name,” he said. “If I used 
 my own some one of these dunderheads would recognize 
 it, and want to meddle in the affair.” 
 
 “That is all right,” I answered. “But supposing any 
 one applies, I have no ring.” (ge 
 
 “Oh, yes, you have,” said he, handing me one. “This 
 will do very well. It is almost a fac-simile. 
 
 “And who do you expect will answer this advertise- 
 ment ?” 
 
 “Why, the man in the brown coat—our florid friend 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 4Y 
 
 with the square toes. If he does not come himself he 
 will send an accomplice.” 
 
 “Would he not consider it as too dangerous?” 
 
 “Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, and 
 I have every reason to believe that it is, this man would 
 rather risk anything than lose the ring. According to 
 my notion he dropped it while stooping over Drebber’s 
 body, and did not miss it at the time. After leaving the 
 house he discovered his loss, and hurried back, but found 
 the police already in possession, owing to his own folly 
 in leaving the candle burning. He had to pretend to be 
 drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might have 
 been aroused by his appearance at the gate. Now, put 
 yourself in that man’s place. On thinking the matter 
 over, it must have occurred to him that it was possible 
 that he had lost the ring in the road after leaving the 
 house. What would he do then? He would eagerly look 
 out for the evening paper, in the hope of seeing it among 
 the articles found. His eye, of course, would light upon 
 this. He would be overjoyed. Why should he fear a 
 trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why the 
 finding of the ring should be connected with the murder. 
 He would come. He will come. You shall see him 
 within arm hour.” 
 
 “And then?’ I asked. 
 
 “Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. Have 
 you any arms?” 
 
 “T have my old service revolver and a few cartridges.” 
 
 “You had better clean it and load it. He will be a 
 desperate man, and, though I shall take him unawares, 
 it is as well to be ready for anything.” 
 
 I went to my bedroom and followed his advice. When 
 I returned with the pistol the table had been cleared, and 
 Holmes was engaged in his favorite occupation of scrap- 
 ing upon his violin. 
 
 “The plot thickens,” he said, as I entered. “I have 
 just had an answer to my American telegram. My view 
 of the case is the correct one.” 
 
 “And that is?” I asked, eagerly. 
 
 “My fiddle would be the better for new strings,” he 
 
42 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 remarked. “Put your pistol in your pocket. When the 
 fellow comes, speak to him in an ordinary way. Leave 
 the rest to me. Don’t frighten him by looking at him 
 too hard.” 
 
 “Tt is eight o’clock now,” I said, glancing at my watch. 
 
 “Yes. He will probably be here in a few minutes. 
 Open the door slightly. That will do. Now put the 
 key on the inside. Thank you! This is a queer old 
 book I picked up at a stall yesterday—‘De Jure inter 
 Gentes’—published in Latin at Liege in the Lowlands, 
 in 1642. Charles’ head was still firm on his shoulders 
 when this little brown-backed volume was struck off.” 
 
 “Who is the printer?” 
 
 “Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been. On 
 the fly-leaf, in very faded ink, is written ‘Ex libris 
 Guliolmi Whyte.’ I wonder who William Whyte was? 
 Some pragmatical seventeenth century lawyer, I sup- 
 pose. His writing has a legal twist about it. Here comes 
 our man, I think.” | 
 
 As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sher- 
 lock rose softly and moved his chair in the direction 
 of the door. We heard the servant pass along the hall, 
 and the sharp click of the latch as she opened it. 
 
 “Does Dr. Watson live here?” asked a clear, but rather 
 harsh voice. We could not hear the servant’s reply, but 
 the door closed and some one began to ascend the stairs. 
 The footfall was an uncertain and shuffling one. A look 
 of surprise passed over the face of my companion as 
 he listened to it. It came slowly along the passage, and 
 there was a feeble tap at the door. 
 
 “Come in!” I cried. 
 
 At my summons, instead of the man of violence whom 
 we expected, a very old and wrinkled woman hobbled 
 into the apartment. She appeared to be dazzled by the 
 sudden blaze of light, and, after dropping a curtsey, she 
 stood blinking at us with her bleared eyes and fumbling 
 in her pocket with nervous, shaky fingers. I glanced at 
 my companion, and his face had assumed such a discon- 
 solate expression that it was all I could do to keep my 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 43 
 
 countenance. The old crone drew out an evening paper, 
 and pointed at our advertisement. 
 
 “It’s this as has brought me, good gentlemen,” she 
 said, dropping another curtsey; “a gold wedding ring 
 in the Brixton Road. It belongs to my girl Sally, as was 
 married only this time twelvemonth, which her husband 
 is a steward aboard a Union boat, and what he’d say if 
 he come ’ome and found her without her ring is more than 
 I can think, he being short enough at the best o’ times, 
 but more especially when he has the drink. If it please 
 you, she went to the circus last night along with——” 
 
 “Is that her ring?” I asked. 
 
 “The Lord be thanked!” cried the old woman. “Sally 
 will be a glad woman this night. That’s the ring.” 
 
 “And what may your address be?” I inquired, taking 
 up a pencil. 
 
 ‘ “13 Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary way from 
 ere.” 
 
 “The Brixton Road does not lie between any circus 
 and Houndsditch,” said Sherlock Holmes, sharply. 
 
 The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him 
 from her little red-rimmed eyes. 
 
 “The gentleman asked me for my address,” she said. 
 “Sally lives in lodgings at 3 Mayfield Place, Peckham,” 
 
 “And your name is ih 
 
 “My name is Sawyer—hers is Dennis, which Tom 
 Dennis married her—and a smart, clean lad, too, as long 
 as he’s at sea, and no steward in the company more 
 thought of; but when on shore, what with the women 
 and what with liquor-shops——” 
 
 “Here is your ring, Mrs. Sawyer,” I interrupted, in 
 obedience to a sign from my companion; “it clearly be- 
 longs to your daughter, and I am glad to be able to re- 
 store it to the rightful owner.” 
 
 With many mumbled blessings and protestations of 
 gratitude the old crone packed it away in her pocket, 
 and shuffled off down the stairs. Sherlock Holmes sprang 
 to his feet the moment she was gone and rushed into 
 
44 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 his room. He returned in a few seconds enveloped in 
 an ulster and a cravat. 
 
 “T’ll follow her,’ he said, hurriedly; “she must be 
 an accomplice, and will lead me to him. Wait up for 
 we.” 
 
 The hall door had hardly slammed behind our visitor 
 before Holmes had descended the stair. Looking through 
 the window, I could see her walking feebly along the 
 other side, while her pursuer dogged her some little 
 distance behind. 
 
 “Either his whole theory is incorrect,’ I thought to 
 myself, “or else he will be led now to the heart of the 
 mystery.” 
 
 There was no need for him to ask me to wait up for 
 him, for I felt that sleep was impossible until I heard 
 the result of his adventure. 
 
 It was close upon nine when he set out. I had no 
 idea how long he might be, but I sat stolidly puffing 
 at my pipe and skipping over the pages of Henri Mur- 
 ger’s “Vie de Boheme.” Ten o’clock passed, and I heard 
 the footsteps of the maids as they pattered off to bed. 
 Eleven, and the more stately tread of the landlady passed 
 by my door, bound for the same destination. It was close 
 upon twelve before I heard the sharp sound of his 
 latch-key. The instant he entered I saw by his face that 
 he had not been successful. Amusement and chagrin 
 seemed to be struggling for the mastery, until the former 
 suddenly carried the day, and he burst into a hearty laugh. 
 
 “T wouldn’t have Scotland Yarders know it for the 
 world,” he cried, dropping into his chair; “I have chaffed 
 them so much that they would never have let me hear 
 the end of it. I can afford to laugh, because I know that 
 I will be even with them in the long run,’ 
 
 “What is it, then?” I asked. 
 
 POW don’t. mind telling a story against myself, 
 That creature had gone a little way when she began to 
 limp and show every sign of being footsore. Pres- © 
 ently she came to a halt, and hailed a four-wheeler which 
 was passing. I managed to be close to her so as to 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 45 
 
 hear the address, but I need not have been so anxious, 
 for she sung it out loud enough to be heard at the other 
 side of the street, ‘Drive to 13 Duncan Street, Hounds- 
 ditch,’ she cried. This begins to look genuine, I thought, 
 and, having seen her safely inside, I perched myself 
 behind. That’s an art which every detective should be 
 an expert at. Well, away we rattled, and never drew rein 
 until we reached the street in question. I hopped off 
 before we came to the door, and strolled down the street 
 in an easy, lounging way. I saw the cab pull up. The 
 driver jumped down, and I saw him open the door 
 and stand expectantly. Nothing came out, though. 
 When I reached him he was groping about frantically in 
 the empty cab, and giving vent to the finest assorted col- 
 lection of oaths that I ever listened to. There was no sign 
 or trace of his passenger, and I fear it will be some time 
 before he gets his fare. On inquiring at No. 13 I found 
 that the house belonged to a respectable paper-hanger 
 named Keswick, and that no one of the name either of 
 Sawyer or Dennis had ever been heard of there.” 
 
 “You don’t mean to say,” I cried in amazement, “that 
 that tottering, feeble old woman was able to get out of 
 the cab while it was in motion, without either you or 
 the driver seeing her?” 
 
 “Old woman be d——d!” said Sherlock Holmes, 
 sharply. “We were the old women, to be so taken in. 
 It must have been a young man, and an active one, too, 
 besides being an incomparable actor. The get-up was 
 inimitable. He saw that he was followed, no doubt, and 
 used this means of giving me the slip. It shows that 
 the man we are after is not as lonely as I imagined he 
 was, but has friends who are ready to risk something 
 for him. Now, doctor, you are looking done up. Take 
 my advice and turn in.” 
 
 I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed his 
 injunction. I left Holmes seated in front of the smolder- 
 ing fire, and long into the watches of the night I heard the 
 low, melancholy wailings of his violin, and knew that he 
 
46 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 was still pondering over the strange problems which he 
 had set himself to unravel. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 TOBIAS GREGSON SHOWS WHAT HE CAN DO 
 
 THE papers next day were full of the “Brixton Mys- 
 tery,” as they termed it. Each had a long account of the 
 affair, and some had leaders upon it in addition. There 
 was some information in them which was new to me. 
 I still retain in my scrap-book numerous clippings and 
 extracts bearing upon the case. Here is a condensation 
 of a few of them: 
 
 The “Daily Telegraph” remarked that in the history 
 of crime there had seldom been a tragedy which pre- 
 sented stranger features. ‘The German name of the 
 victim, the absence of all other motive, and the sinister 
 inscription on the wall, all pointed to its perpetration by 
 political refugees and revolutionists. The Socialists had 
 many branches in America, and the deceased had, no 
 doubt, infringed their unwritten laws and been tracked 
 down by them. After alluding airily to the Vehmgericht, 
 aqua tofana, Carbonari, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, 
 the Darwinian theory, the principles of Malthus, and the 
 Ratcliff Highway murders, the article concluded by ad- 
 monishing the government and advocating a closer watch 
 over foreigners in England. 
 
 The “Standard” commented upon the fact that lawless 
 outrages of the sort usually occurred under a Liberal ad- 
 ministration, They arose from the unsettling of the — 
 minds of the masses, and the consequent weakening 
 of all authority. The deceased was an American gen- 
 tleman who had been residing for some weeks in the 
 metropolis. He had stayed at the boarding-house of 
 Mme. Charpentier, in Torquay Terrace, Camberwell. 
 He was accompanied in his travels by his private secre- 
 tary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The two bid adieu to their 
 landlady upon Tuesday, the 4th inst., and departed to 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 47 
 
 - Euston Station with the avowed intention of catching the 
 Liverpool express. They were afterward seen together 
 on the platform. Nothing more is known of them until 
 Mr. Drebber’s body was, as recorded, discovered in an 
 empty house in the Brixton Road, many miles from 
 Euston. How he came there, or how he met his fate, 
 are questions which are still involved in the mystery. 
 Nothing is known of the whereabouts of Stangerson. 
 We are glad to learn that Mr. Lestrade and Mr. Gregson, 
 of Scotland Yard, are both engaged upon the case, and 
 it is confidently anticipated that these well-known officers 
 will speedily throw light upon the matter. 
 
 The “Daily News” observed that there was no doubt 
 as to the crime being a political one. The despotism and 
 hatred of Liberalism which animated the Continental 
 governments had had the effect of driving to our shores 
 a number of men who might have made excellent citizens 
 were they not soured by the recollection of all that they 
 had undergone. Among these men there was a stringent 
 code of honor, any infringement of which was punished 
 by death. Every effort should be made to find the secre- 
 tary, Stangerson, and to ascertain some particulars of the 
 habits of the deceased. A great step had been gained by 
 the discovery of the address of the house at which he had 
 boarded—a result which was entirely due to the acuteness 
 and energy of Mr. Gregson, of Scotland Yard. 
 
 Sherlock Holmes and I read these notices over together 
 at breakfast, and they appeared to afford him considerable 
 amusement. 
 
 “IT told you that, whatever happened, Lestrade and 
 Gregson would be sure to score.” 
 
 “That depends on how it turns out.” 
 
 “Oh, bless you, it doesn’t matter in the least. If the 
 man is caught, it will be on account of their exertions; if 
 he escapes, it will be im spite of their exertions. It’s 
 heads I win and tails you lose. Whatever they do, they 
 will have followers. ‘Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot 
 qui admire,” 
 
 “What on earth is this?” I cried, for at this moment 
 
48 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 there came the pattering of many steps in the hall and on 
 the stairs, accompanied by audible expressions of disgust 
 upon the part of our landlady. 
 
 “It’s the Baker Street division of the detective police 
 force,” said my companion, gravely; and as he spoke 
 there rushed into the room half a dozen of the dirtiest 
 and most ragged street arabs that ever I clapped eyes 
 on. 
 “*Tention!” cried Holmes, in a sharp tone, and the 
 six dirty little scoundrels stood in a line like so many 
 disreputable statuettes. “In the future you shall send up 
 Wiggins alone to report, and the rest of you must wait in 
 the street. Have you found it, Wiggins?” 
 
 “No, sir, we hain’t,” said one of the youths. 
 
 “I hardly expected you would. You must keep on 
 until you do. Here are your wages.” He handed each 
 of them a shilling. “Now, off you go, and come back 
 with a better report next time.” 
 
 He waved his hand, and they scampered away down 
 stairs like so many rats, and we heard their shrill voices 
 next moment in the street. 
 
 “There’s more work to be got out of one of those little 
 beggars than out of a dozen of the force,’ Holmes re- 
 marked. “The mere sight of an official-looking person 
 seals men’s lips. These youngsters, however, go every- 
 where and hear everything. They are as sharp as needles, 
 too; all they want is organization.” 
 
 “Ts it on this Brixton case that you are employing 
 them?” I asked. 
 
 “Yes; there is a point which I wish to ascertain. It 
 is merely a matter of time. MHalloo! we are going to 
 hear some news now with a vengeance! Here is Gregson 
 coming down the road, with beatitude written upon every 
 feature of his face. Bound for us, I know. Yes, he 
 is stopping. There he is!’ 
 
 There was a violent peal at the bell, and in a few 
 seconds the fair-haired detective came up the stairs, 
 three steps at a time, and burst into our sitting-room. 
 
 “My dear fellow,” he cried, wringing Holmes’ unre- 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 49 
 
 sponsive hand, “congratulate me! I have made the 
 whole thing as clear as day!” 
 
 A shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my com- 
 panion’s expressive face. 
 
 “Do you mean that you are on the right track?” he 
 asked. 
 
 “The right track! Why, sir, we have the man under 
 lock and key!” 
 
 “And his name is?” 
 
 “Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her Majesty’s 
 navy,” cried Gregson, pompously rubbing his fat hands 
 and inflating his chest. 
 
 Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief and relaxed into 
 a smile. 
 
 “Take a seat and try one of these cigars,” he said. 
 “We are anxious to know how you managed it. Will 
 you have some whiskey and water?” 
 
 “TI don’t mind if I do,” the detective answered. “The 
 tremendous exertions which I have gone through during 
 the last day or two have worn me out. Not so much 
 bodily exertion, you understand, as the strain upon the 
 mind. You will appreciate that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, 
 for we are both brain-workers.” 
 
 “You do me too much honor,” said Holmes, gravely. 
 “Let us hear how you arrived at this most gratifying 
 result.” 
 
 The detective seated himself in the armchair and puffed 
 complacently at his cigar. Then suddenly he slapped his 
 thigh in a paroxysm of amusement. 
 
 “The fun of it is,” he cried, “that that fool Lestrade, 
 who thinks himself so smart, has gone off upon the 
 wrong track altogether. He is after the secretary, 
 Stangerson, who had no more to do with the crime than 
 the babe unborn. I have no doubt that he has caught 
 him by this time.” 
 
 The idea tickled Gregson so much that he laughed until 
 he choked. 
 
 “And how did you get your clue?” 
 
 “Ah, T’ll tell you all about it. Of course, Dr. Watson, 
 
50 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 this is strictly between ourselves. ‘The first difficulty 
 which we had to contend with was the finding of this 
 American’s antecedents. Some people would have waited 
 until their advertisements were answered, or until parties 
 came forward and volunteered information. That is not 
 Tobias Gregson’s way of going to work. You remember 
 the hat beside the dead man?’ 
 
 “Yes,” said Holmes; “by John Underwood & Sons, 
 229 Camberwell Road.” 
 
 Gregson looked quite crestfallen. 
 
 “T had no idea that you noticed that,” he said. “Have 
 you been there?” 
 
 “No,” 
 
 “Ha!” cried Gregson, in a relieved voice; “you should 
 never neglect a chance, however small it may seem.” 
 
 “To a great mind nothing is little,’ remarked Holmes, 
 sententiously. 
 
 “Well, I went to Underwood, and asked him if he had 
 sold a hat of that size and description. He looked over his 
 books, and came on it at once. He had sent the hat to a 
 Mr. Drebber, residing at Charpentier’s boarding establish- 
 ment, Torquay Terrace. Thus I got at his address.” 
 
 “Smart—very smart!” murmured Sherlock Holmes. 
 
 “I next called upon Madame Charpentier,” continued 
 the detective. “I found her very pale and distressed. 
 Her daughter was in the room, too—an uncommonly fine 
 girl she is, too; she was looking red about the eyes, and 
 her lips trembled as I spoke to her. That didn’t escape 
 my notice. I began to smella rat. You know the feeling, 
 Mr. Sherlock Holmes, when you come upon the right 
 scent—a kind of thrill in your nerves. “Have you heard 
 of the mysterious death of your late boarder, Mr. Enoch J. 
 Drebber, of Cleveland?’ I asked. 
 
 “The mother nodded. She didn’t seem able to get out 
 a word. The daughter burst into tears. I felt more than 
 ever that these people knew something of the matter. 
 
 “At what o’clock did Mr. Drebber leave your house 
 for the train?’ I asked. 
 
 “At eight o’clock,’ she said, gulping in her throat to 
 keep down her agitation. ‘His secretary, Mr. Stanger- 
 
 ? 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 51 
 
 son, said that there were two trains—one at 9:15 and one 
 at 11. He was to catch the first.’ 
 
 “And was that the last you saw of him?’ 
 
 “A terrible change came over the woman’s face as I 
 asked the question. Her features turned perfectly livid. 
 It was some seconds before she could get out the single 
 word, ‘Yes,’ and when it did come it was in a husky, 
 unnatural tone. 
 
 “There was silence for a moment, and then the 
 daughter spoke in a calm, clear voice. 
 
 “*No good can ever come of falsehood, mother,’ she 
 said. ‘Let us be frank with this gentleman. We did see 
 Mr. Drebber again.’ 
 
 “*God forgive you!’ cried Madame Charpentier, throw- 
 ing up her hands and sinking back in her chair. ‘You 
 have murdered your brother!’ 
 
 “Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,’ the 
 girl answered, firmly. : 
 
 ““*VYou had best tell me all about it now,’ I said. ‘Half 
 confidences are worse than none. Besides, you do not 
 know how much we know of it.’ 
 
 “On your head be it, Alice!’ cried her mother; and 
 then, turning to me: ‘I will tell you all, sir. Do not 
 imagine that my agitation on behalf of my son arises 
 from any fear lest he should have had a hand in this 
 terrible affair. He is utterly innocent of it. My dread 
 is, however, that in your eyes and in the eyes of others 
 he may appear to be compromised. That, however, is 
 surely impossible. His high character, his profession, his 
 antecedents would all forbid it.’ 
 
 “*Vour best way is to make a clean breast of the 
 facts,’ I answered. ‘Depend upon it, if your son is in- 
 nocent he will be none the worse.’ 
 
 “ ‘Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us together,’ 
 she said, and her daughter withdrew. ‘Now, sir,’ she 
 continued, ‘I had no intention of telling you all this, but 
 since my poor daughter has disclosed it I have no alterna- 
 tive. Having once decided to speak, I will tell you all, 
 without omitting any particular.’ 
 
52 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “Tt is your wisest course,’ said I. 
 
 “Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly three weeks. 
 He and his secretary, Mr. Stangerson, had been travel- 
 ing on the Continent. I noticed a Copenhagen label upon 
 each of their trunks, showing that that had been their 
 last stopping-place. Stangerson was a quiet, reserved 
 man, but his employer, I am sorry to say, was far other- 
 wise. He was coarse in his habits and brutish in his 
 ways. The very night of his arrival he became very 
 much the worse for drink, and, indeed, after twelve 
 o'clock in the day he could hardly ever be said to be sober. 
 His manners toward the maid-servants was disgustingly 
 free and familiar. Worst of all, he speedily assumed 
 the same attitude toward my daughter, Alice, and spoke 
 to her more than once in a way which, fortunately, she 
 is too innocent to understand. On one occasion he 
 actually seized her in his arms and embraced her—an 
 outrage which caused his own secretary to reproach him 
 for his unmanly conduct.” 
 
 “But why did you stand all this? I asked. ‘I sup- 
 or that you can get rid of your boarders when you 
 wish.’ : 
 
 “Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. 
 
 “*Would to God that I had given him notice on the 
 very day he came,’ she said. ‘But it was a sore temp- 
 tation. They were paying a pound a day each—fourteen 
 pounds a week, and this is a slack season. I am a widow, 
 and my boy in the navy has cost me much, I grudged to 
 lose the money. I acted for the best. This last was too 
 much, however, and I gave him notice to leave on account 
 of it. That was the reason of his going,’ 
 
 NV ell’ 
 
 “*My heart grew light when I saw him drive away. 
 My son is on leave just now, but I did not tell him any- 
 thing of this, for his temper is violent, and he is passion- 
 ately fond of his sister. When I closed the door be- 
 hind them a load seemed to be lifted from my mind. 
 Alas! in less than an hour there was a ring at the bell, 
 and I learned that Mr. Drebber had returned. He 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 53 
 
 was much excited, and evidently the worse for drink. 
 He forced his way into the room where I was sitting 
 with my daughter, and made some incoherent remark 
 about having missed his train. He then turned to Alice, 
 and, before my very face, proposed to her that she should 
 fly with him. “You are of age,” he said, “and there is no 
 law to stop you. I have money enough and to spare. 
 Never mind the old girl here, but come along with me 
 now straight away. You shall live like a princess.” Poor 
 Alice was so frightened that she shrunk away from him, 
 but he caught her by the wrist and endeavored to draw 
 her toward the door. I screamed, and at that moment 
 my son Arthur came into the room. What happened then 
 I do not know. I heard oaths and the confused sounds 
 of a scuffle. I was too terrified to raise my head. When 
 I did look up I saw Arthur standing in the doorway 
 laughing, with a stick in his hand. “I don’t think that 
 fine fellow will trouble us again,’ he said. “I will just 
 go after him and see what he does with himself.” With 
 those words he took his hat and started off down the 
 street. The next morning we heard of Mr. Drebber’s 
 mysterious death.’ 
 
 “This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier’s lips 
 with many gasps and pauses. At times she spoke so low 
 that I could hardly catch the words. I made shorthand 
 notes of all she said, however, so that there should be 
 no possibility of a mistake.” 
 
 “It’s quite exciting,” said Sherlock Holmes, with a 
 yawn. “What happened next?” } 
 
 “When Mrs. Charpentier paused,” the detective con- 
 tinued, “I saw that the whole case hung upon one point. 
 Fixing her with my eye in a way which I always found 
 effective with women, I asked her at what hour her 
 son returned. 
 
 “*T do not know,’ she answered. 
 
 ““Not know ?’ 
 
 “*No; he has a latch-key, and let himself in.’ 
 
 “‘And after you went to bed?’ 
 
 éé Ves,’ 
 
54 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “ “When did you go to bed?’ 
 
 “About eleven.’ 
 
 “«So your son was gone at least two hours?’ 
 
 «&é ‘Yes,’ 
 
 ‘Possibly four or five?’ 
 
 €é ‘Ves? 
 
 “What was he doing during that time?’ 
 
 “*T do not know,’ she answered, turning white to her 
 very lips. 
 
 “Of course, after that there was nothing more to be 
 done. I found out where Lieutenant Charpentier was, 
 took two officers with me, and arrested him. When I 
 touched him on the shoulder and warned him to come 
 quietly with us, he answered us, as bold as brass: ‘T 
 suppose you are arresting me for being concerned in the 
 death of that scoundrel Drebber,’ he said. We had said 
 nothing to him about it, so that his alluding to it had 
 a most suspicious aspect.” 
 
 “Very,” said Holmes. 
 
 “He still carried the heavy stick which the mother 
 described him as having with him when he followed 
 Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel.” 
 
 “What is your theory, then?” 
 
 “Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far 
 as the Brixton Road. When there, a fresh altercation 
 arose between them, in the course of which Drebber 
 received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the stomach, 
 perhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. 
 The night was so wet that no one was about, so Char- 
 pentier dragged the body of his victim into the empty 
 house. As to the candle, and the blood, and the writing 
 on the wall, and the ring, they may all-be so many tricks 
 to throw the police on the wrong scent.” 
 
 “Well done!” said Holmes, in an encouraging voice. 
 “Really, Gregson, you are getting along. We shall make 
 something of you yet.” 
 
 “T flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly,” 
 the detective answered, proudly. “The young man volun- 
 teered a statement, in which he said that after following 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 55 
 
 Drebber for some time, the latter perceived him, and 
 took a cab in order to get away from him. On his way 
 he met an old shipmate, and took a long walk with him. 
 On being asked where his old shipmate lived, he was 
 unable to give any satisfactory reply. I think the whole 
 case fits together uncommonly well. What amuses me is 
 to think of Lestrade, who had started off upon the wrong 
 scent. I am afraid he won’t make much of it. Why, by 
 Jove, here’s the very man himself!” 
 
 It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs 
 while we were talking, and who now entered the room. 
 The assurance and jauntiness which generally marked his 
 demeanor and dress were, however, wanting. His face 
 was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were dis- 
 arranged and untidy. He had evidently come with the 
 intention of consulting with Sherlock Holmes, for on 
 perceiving his colleague he appeared to be embarrassed 
 and put out. He stood in the center of the room, fum- 
 bling nervously with his hat, and uncertain what to do. 
 
 “This is a most extraordinary case,” he said, at last; 
 “a most incomprehensible affair.” 
 
 “Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!” cried Gregson, 
 triumphantly. “I thought you would come to that con- 
 clusion. Have you managed to find the secretary, Mr. 
 Joseph Stangerson ?”’ 
 
 “The secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson,”’ said Les- 
 trade, gravely, “was murdered at Halliday’s Private Hotel 
 about six o’clock this morning.” 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS 
 
 THE intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was 
 so momentous and so unexpected that we were all three 
 fairly dumfounded. Gregson sprang out of his chair 
 and upset the remainder of his whiskey and water. I 
 started in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were 
 compressed and his brows drawn down over his eyes. 
 
56 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “Stangerson, too!” he muttered. “The plot thickens!’ 
 
 “It was quite thick enough before,” grumbled Les- — 
 trade, taking a chair. “I seem to have dropped into a 
 sort of council of war.” 
 
 “Are you—are you sure of this piece of intelligence?” 
 stammered Gregson. 
 
 “T have just come from his room,” said Lestrade. “I 
 was the first to discover what had occurred.” | 
 
 “We have been hearing Gregson’s view of the matter,” 
 Holmes observed. ‘‘Would you mind letting us know 
 what you have seen and done?” 
 
 “T have no objection,” Lestrade answered, seating him- — 
 self. “I freely confess that I was of the opinion that 
 Stangerson was concerned in the death of Drebber. 
 This fresh development has shown me that I was com- 
 pletely mistaken. Full of the one idea, I set myself to 
 find out what had become of the secretary. They had 
 been seen together at Euston Station about half-past eight 
 on the evening of the third. At two in he morning 
 Drebber had been found in the Brixton Road. The ques- 
 tion which confronted me was to find out how Stanger- 
 son had been employed between 8:30 and the time of the 
 crime, and what had become of him afterward. I tele- 
 graphed to Liverpool, giving a description of the man, 
 and warning them to keep a watch upon the American 
 boats. I then set to work calling upon all the hotels and 
 lodging-houses in the vicinity of Euston. You see, I 
 argued that if Drebber and his companion had become 
 separated, the natural course for the latter would be to 
 put up somewhere in the vicinity for the night, and then 
 to hang about the station again the next morning.” 
 
 “They would be likely to agree on some meeting-place 
 beforehand,” remarked Holmes. 
 
 “So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday eve- 
 ning in making inquiries, entirely without avail. This 
 morning I began very early, and at eight o’clock I reached 
 Halliday’s Private Hotel, in Little George Street. On my 
 inquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson was living there, 
 they at once answered me in the affirmative. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 57 
 
 ““No doubt you are the gentleman he was expecting,’ 
 they said. ‘He has been waiting for a gentleman for two 
 days.’ 
 
 “Where is he now?’ I asked. 
 
 ““He is up stairs in bed. He wished to be called at 
 nine.’ 
 
 “It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might 
 shake his nerves and lead him to say something un- 
 guarded. The Boots volunteered to show me the room; 
 it was on the second floor, and there was a small corridor 
 leading up to it. The Boots pointed out the door to 
 me, and was about to go down stairs again, when I saw 
 something that made me feel sickish, in spite of my 
 twenty years’ experience. From under the door there 
 curled a little red ribbon of blood, which had meandered 
 across the passage and formed a little pool along the 
 skirting at the other side. I gave a cry, which brought 
 the Boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The 
 door was locked on the inside, but we put our shoulders 
 to it and knocked it in. The window of the room was 
 open, and beside the window, all huddled up, lay the 
 body of a man in his night-dress. He was quite dead, and 
 had been for some time, for his limbs were rigid and 
 cold. When we turned him over the Boots recognized 
 him at once as being the same gentleman who had en- 
 gaged the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson. 
 _ The cause of death was a deep stab in the left side, which 
 
 must have penetrated the heart. And now comes the 
 strangest part of the affair. What do you suppose was 
 above the murdered man?” 
 
 I felt a creeping of flesh, and a presentiment of coming 
 horror, even before Sherlock Holmes answered: 
 
 “The word ‘Rache,’ written in letters of blood,’ he 
 said. 
 
 “That was it,’ said Lestrade, in an awe-struck voice; 
 and we were all silent for a while. 
 
 There was something so methodical and so incompre- 
 hensible about the deeds of this unknown assassin, that 
 it imparted a fresh ghastliness to his crimes. My nerves, 
 
58 A STUDY IN SCRALET 
 
 which were steady enough on the field of battle, tingled 
 as I thought of it. 
 
 “The man was seen,” continued Lestrade. “A milk- 
 boy, passing on his way to the dairy, happened to walk 
 down the lane which leads from the mews at the back 
 of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder, which usually 
 lay there, was raised against one of the windows ofthe 
 second floor, which was wide open. After passing, he 
 looked back and saw a man descend the ladder. He 
 came down so quietly and openly that the boy imagined 
 him to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. 
 He took no particular notice of him, beyond thinking in 
 his own mind that it was early for him to be at work. 
 He has an impression that the man was tall, had a reddish 
 face, and was dressed in a long, brownish coat. He must 
 have stayed in the room some little time after the mur- 
 der, for we found bloodstained water in the basin, where 
 he had washed his hands, and marks on the sheets where 
 he had deliberately wiped his knife.” 
 
 I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the 
 murderer, which tallied so exactly with his own. There 
 was, however, no trace of exultation or satisfaction upon 
 his face. 
 
 “Did you find nothing in the room which could fur- 
 nish a clue to the murderer?” he asked. 
 
 “Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber’s purse in his 
 pocket, but it seems that this was usual, as he did all 
 the paying. There was eighty-odd pounds in it, but noth- 
 ing had been taken. Whatever the motives of these 
 extraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not one of | 
 them. There were no papers or memoranda in the 
 murdered man’s pockets, except a single telegram, dated 
 from Cleveland about a month ago, and containing the 
 words, ‘J. H. is in Europe.’ There was no name ap- 
 pended to this message.” 
 
 “And was there nothing else?’ Holmes asked. 
 
 “Nothing of any importance. The man’s novel, with 
 which he had read himself to sleep, was lying upon the 
 bed, and his pipe was on a chair beside him. There was 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 59 
 
 a glass of water on the table, and on the window-sill 
 a small chip ointment box containing a couple of pills.’ 
 
 Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an excla- 
 mation of delight. 
 
 “The last link!” he cried, exultantly. ‘My case is com- 
 plete.” 
 
 The two detectives stared at him in amazement. 
 
 “JT have now in my hands,” my companion said, con- 
 fidently, “all the threads which have formed such a tangle. 
 There are, of course, details to be filled in, but I am 
 as certain of all the main facts, from the time that Dreb- 
 ber parted from Stangerson at the station up to the dis- 
 covery of the body of the latter, as if I had seen them 
 with my own eyes. I will give you a proof of my knowl- 
 edge. Could you lay your hand upon those pills?” 
 
 “I have them,” said Lestrade, producing a small white 
 box; “I took them and the purse and the telegram, in- 
 tending to have them put in a place of safety at the police 
 station. It was the merest chance my taking these pills, 
 for I am bound to say that I do not attach any impor- 
 tance to them.” 
 
 “Give them here,” said Holmes. “Now, doctor,” turn- 
 ing to me, “are those ordinary pills?” 
 
 They certainly were not. They were of a pearly gray 
 color, small, round, and almost transparent against the 
 light. 
 
 “From their lightness and transparency I should imag- 
 ine that they are soluble in water,” I remarked. 
 
 “Precisely so,” answered Holmes. “Now, would you 
 mind going down and fetching that poor little devil of a 
 terrier which has been bad so long, and which the land- 
 lady wanted you to put out of its pain yesterday?” 
 
 I went down stairs and carried the dog up stairs in my 
 arms. Its labored breathing and glazing eye showed that 
 it was not far from its end. Indeed, its snow-white 
 muzzle proclaimed that it had already exceeded the usual 
 term of canine existence. I placed it upon a cushion 
 on the rug. 
 
 “T will now cut one of these pills in two,” said Holmes; 
 and, drawing his penknife, he suited the action to the 
 
60 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 word. “One half we return into the box for future pur- 
 poses. The other half I will place in this wine-glass, in — 
 which is a teaspoonful of water. You perceive that our 
 friend, the doctor, is right, and that it readily dissolves.” 
 
 “This may be very interesting,” said Lestrade, in the 
 injured tone of one who suspects that he is being laughed 
 at. “I cannot see, however, what it has to do with the 
 death of Mr. Joseph Stangerson.” 
 
 “Patience, my friend, patience! You will find in time 
 that it has everything to do with it. I shall now add a 
 little milk to make the mixture palatable, and on present- 
 ing it to the dog we find that he laps it up readily enough.” 
 
 As he spoke he turned the contents of the wine-glass 
 into a saucer and placed it in front of the terrier, who 
 speedily licked it dry. Sherlock Holmes’ earnest demeanor 
 had so far convinced us that we all sat in silence, watch- 
 ing the animal intently, and expecting some startling 
 effect. None appeared, however. The dog continued to 
 lie upon the cushion, breathing in a labored way, but ap- 
 parently neither the better nor worse for its draught. 
 
 Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute followed 
 minute without result, an expression of the utmost cha- 
 grin and disappointment appeared upon his features. He 
 gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon the table, and 
 showed every other symptom of acute impatience. So 
 great was his emotion that I felt sincerely sorry for him, 
 while the two detectives smiled derisively, by no means 
 displeased at this check which he had met. 
 
 “It can’t be a coincidence,” he cried at last, springing 
 from his chair and pacing wildly up and down the room; 
 “it is impossible that it should be a mere coincidence. 
 The very pills which I suspected in the case of Drebber 
 are actually found after the death of Stangerson. And 
 yet they are inert. What can it mean? Surely my 
 whole chain of reasoning cannot have been false! It is 
 impossible! And yet this wretched dog is none the worse. 
 Ah, I have it! I have it!” With a perfect shriek of de- 
 light he rushed to the box, cut the other pill in two, dis- 
 solved it, added milk, and presented it to the terrier. 
 The unfortunate creature’s tongue seemed hardly to have 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 61 
 
 been moistened in it before it gave a convulsive shiver in 
 every limb, and lay as rigid and lifeless as if it had 
 been struck by lightning. 
 
 Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and wiped the 
 perspiration from his forehead. 
 
 “T should have more faith,” he said; “I ought to know 
 by this time that when a fact appears to be opposed to a 
 long train of deductions it invariably proves to be capable 
 of bearing some other interpretation. Of the two pills in 
 that box one was the most deadly poison and the other 
 was entirely harmless. J ought to have known that 
 before I ever saw the box at all.” 
 
 This last statement appeared to me to be so startling 
 that I could hardly believe that he was in his sober 
 senses. There was the dead dog, however, to prove that 
 his conjecture had been correct. It seemed to me that 
 the mists in my own mind were gradually clearing away, 
 and I began to have a dim, vague perception of the 
 truth. 
 
 “All this seems strange to you,’ continued Holmes, 
 “because you failed at the beginning of the inquiry to 
 grasp the importance of the single real clue which was 
 presented to you. I had the good fortune to seize upon 
 that, and everything which has occurred since then has 
 served to confirm my original supposition, and, indeed, 
 was the logical sequence of it. Hence, things which have 
 perplexed you and made the case more obscure have 
 served to enlighten me and to strengthen my conclusions. 
 It is a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. 
 The most common-place crime is often the most mysteri- 
 ous, because it presents no new or special features from 
 which deductions may be drawn. This murder would 
 have been infinitely more difficult to unravel had the body 
 of the victim been simply found lying in the roadway 
 without any of those outre and sensational accompani- 
 ments which have rendered it remarkable. These strange 
 details, far from making the case more difficult, have 
 really had the effect of making it less so.” 
 
 Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this address with 
 considerable impatience, could contain himself no longer, 
 
62 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “Look here, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” he said, “we are 
 all ready to acknowledge that you are a smart man, and 
 that you have your own methods of working. We want 
 something more than mere theory and preaching now, 
 though. It is a case of taking the man. I have made 
 my case out, and it seems I was wrong. Young Char- 
 pentier could not have been engaged in this second affair. 
 Lestrade went after this man, Stangerson, and it appears 
 that he was wrong, too. You have thrown out hints 
 here and there, and seem to know more than we do, but 
 the time has come when we feel that we have a right to 
 ask you straight how much you do know of the business. 
 Can you name the man who did it?” 
 
 “IT cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir,” re- 
 marked Lestrade. “We have both tried, and we have 
 both failed. You have remarked more than once since 
 I have been in the room that you have all the evidence 
 which you require. Surely you will not withhold it any 
 longer.” 
 
 “Any delay in arresting the assassin,” I observed, 
 “might give him time to perpetrate some fresh atrocity.” 
 
 Thus pressed by us all Holmes showed signs of irresolu- 
 tion. He continued to walk up and down the room with 
 his head sunk on his chest and his brows drawn down, 
 as was his habit when lost in thought. 
 
 “There will be no more murders,’ he said, at last, 
 stopping abruptly and facing us. ‘You can put that con- 
 sideration out of the question. You have asked me if I 
 know the name of the assassin. Ido. The mere knowing 
 of his name is a small thing, however, compared with 
 the power of laying our hands upon him. This I expect 
 very shortly to do. I have good hopes of managing it 
 through my own arrangements; but it is a thing which 
 needs delicate handling, for we have a shrewd and des- 
 
 erate man to deal with, who is supported, as I have had 
 occasion to prove, by another who is as clever as him- 
 self. As long as this man has no idea that any one can 
 have a clue, there is some chance of securing him; but 
 if he had the slightest suspicion he would change his 
 name, and vanish in an instant among the four million 
 
 , 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 63 
 
 inhabitants of this great city. Without meaning to hurt 
 either of your feelings, I am bound to say that I con- 
 sider these men to be more than a match for the official 
 force, and that is why I have not asked your assistance. 
 If I fail I shall of course incur all the blame due to 
 this omission; but that I am prepared for. At present I 
 am ready to promise that the instant that I can communi- 
 cate with you without endangering my own combinations 
 I shall do so.” 
 
 Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied 
 by this assurance, or by the depreciating allusion to the 
 detective police. The former had flushed up to the roots 
 of his flaxen hair, while the other’s beady eyes glistened 
 with curiosity and resentment. Neither of them had time 
 to speak, however, before there was a tap at the door and 
 the spokesman of the street arabs, young Wiggins, intro- 
 duced his insignificant and unsavory person. 
 
 “Please, sir,’ he said, touching his forehead, “I have 
 the cab down stairs.” 
 
 “Good boy,” said Holmes, blandly. “Why don’t you 
 introduce this pattern at Scotland Yard?’ he continued, 
 taking a pair of steel handcuffs from a drawer. ‘See 
 how beautifully the spring works. They fasten in an 
 instant.” 
 
 “The old pattern is good enough,’ remarked Lestrade, 
 “if we can find the man to put them on.” 
 
 “Very good, very good,” said Holmes, smiling. “The 
 cabman may as well help me with my boxes, Just ask 
 him to step up, Wiggins.” 
 
 I was surprised to find my companion speaking as 
 though he were about to set out on a journey, since he 
 had not said anything to me about it. There was a small 
 portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out and began 
 to strap. He was busily engaged at it when the cabman 
 entered the room. 
 
 “Tust give me a help with this buckle, cabman,” he said, 
 kneeling over his task, and never turning his head. 
 
 The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, 
 defiant air, and put down his hands to assist. At that 
 
64 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 instant there was a sharp click, the jangling of metal, and 
 Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet again. 
 
 “Gentlemen,” he cried, with flashing eyes, “let me in- 
 troduce you to Mr. Jefferson Hope, the murderer of 
 Enoch Drebber and of Joseph Stangerson.” 
 
 The whole thing occurred in a moment—so quickly that 
 I had no time to realize it. I have a vivid recollection 
 of that instant, of Holmes’ triumphant expression and 
 the ring of his voice, of the cabman’s dazed, savage 
 face, as he glared at the glittering handcuffs, which 
 had appeared as if by magic upon his wrists. For a sec- 
 ond or two we might have been a group of statues. Then, 
 with an inarticulate roar of fury, the prisoner wrenched 
 himself free from Holmes’ grasp, and hurled himself 
 through the window. Woodwork and glass gave way be- 
 fore him, but before he got quite through Gregson, Les- 
 trade and Holmes sprang upon him like so many stag- 
 hounds. He was dragged back into the room, and then 
 commenced a terrific conflict. So powerful and so fierce 
 was he that the four of us were shaken off again and 
 again. He appeared to have the convulsive strength of 
 aman inan epileptic fit. His face and hands were terribly 
 mangled by the passage through the glass, but loss of 
 blood had no effect in diminishing his resistance. It was 
 not until Lestrade succeeded in getting his hand inside 
 his neckcloth and half strangling him that we made him 
 realize that his struggles were of no avail; and even then 
 we felt no security until we had pinioned his feet as well 
 as his hands. That done we rose to our feet, breathless 
 and panting. | 
 
 “We have his cab,” said Sherlock Holmes. “It will 
 serve to take him to Scotland Yard. And now, gentle- 
 men,’ he continued, with a pleasant smile, “we have 
 reached the end of our little mystery. You are very wel- 
 come to put any questions that you like to me now, ard 
 there is no danger that I will refuse to answer them.” 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 65 
 
 PAR CU 
 
 THE COUNTRY OF THE SAINTS 
 CHAPTER: TL 
 ON THE GREAT ALKALI PLAIN 
 
 In the central portion of the great North American 
 Continent there lies an arid and repulsive desert, which 
 for many a long year served as a barrier against the 
 advance of civilization. From the Sierra Nevada to 
 Nebraska, and from the Yellowstone River in the north 
 to the Colorado upon the south, is a region of desolation 
 and silence. Nor is Nature always in one mood through- 
 out this grim district. It comprises snow-capped and 
 lofty mountains, and dark and gloomy valleys. There 
 are swift-flowing rivers which dash through jagged can- 
 yons; and there are enormous plains, which in winter are 
 white with snow, and in summer are gray with the saline 
 alkali dust. They all preserve, however, the common 
 characteristics of barrenness, inhospitality, and misery. 
 
 There are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A 
 band of Pawnees or of Blackfeet may occasionally tra- 
 verse it in order to reach other hunting-grounds, but the 
 hardiest of the braves are glad to lose sight of those awe- 
 some plains, and to find themselves once more upon their 
 prairies. The coyote skulks among the scrub, the buz- 
 zard flaps heavily through the air, and the clumsy grizzly 
 bear lumbers through the dark ravines, and picks up such 
 sustenance as it can among the rocks. These are the 
 sole dwellers in the wilderness. 
 
 In the whole world there can be no more dreary view 
 than that from the northern slope of the Sierra Blanco. 
 As far as the eye can reach stretches the great flat plain- 
 
66 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 et 
 
 land, all dusted over with patches of alkali, and inter- 
 sected by clumps of the dwarfish chaparal bushes. On 
 the extreme verge of the horizon lie a long chain of 
 mountain-peaks, with their rugged summits flecked with 
 snow. In this great stretch of country there is no sign 
 of life, nor of anything appertaining to life. There is 
 no bird in the steel-blue heaven, no movement upon the 
 dull, gray earth—above all, there is absolute silence. Lis- 
 ten as one may, there is no shadow of a sound in all that 
 mighty wilderness; nothing but silence—complete and 
 heart-subduing silence. 
 
 It has been said there is nothing appertaining to life 
 upon the broad plain. That is hardly true. Looking down 
 from the Sierra Blanco, one sees a pathway traced out 
 across the desert, which winds away and is lost in the 
 extreme distance. It is rutted with wheels and trodden 
 down by the feet of many adventurers. Here and there 
 are scattered white objects which glisten in the sun, and 
 stand out against the dull deposit of alkali. Approach, 
 and examine them! ‘They are bones; some large and 
 coarse, others smaller and more delicate. The former 
 have belonged to oxen, and the latter to men. For fifteen 
 hundred miles one may trace this ghastly caravan route by 
 these scattered remains of those who had fallen by the 
 wayside. 
 
 Looking down on this very scene there stood upon the 
 4th of May, 1847, a solitary traveler. His appearance 
 was such that he might have been the very genius or 
 demon of the region. An observer would have found it 
 difficult to say whether he was nearer to forty or to 
 sixty. His face was lean and haggard, and the brown, 
 parchment-like skin was drawn tightly over the project- 
 ing bones; his long, brown hair and beard were all flecked 
 and dashed with white; his eyes were sunken in his head 
 and burned with an unnatural luster, while the hand 
 which grasped his rifle was hardly more fleshy than that 
 of a skeleton. As he stood, he leaned upon his weapon 
 for support, and yet his tall figure and the massive 
 framework of his bones suggested a wiry and vigorous 
 constitution. His gaunt face, however, and his clothes, 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 67 
 
 which hung so baggily over his shriveled limbs, pro- 
 claimed what it was that gave him that senile and decrepit 
 appearance. The man was dying—dying from hunger 
 and thirst. 
 
 He had toiled painfully down the ravine, and on to this 
 little elevation, in the vain hope of seeing some signs of 
 water. Now the great salt plain stretched before his 
 eyes, and the distant belt of savage mountains, without a 
 sign anywhere of plant or tree, which might indicate 
 the presence of moisture. In all that broad landscape 
 there was no gleam of hope. North, and east, and west 
 he looked with wild, questioning eyes, and then he realized 
 that his wanderings had come to an end, and that there, 
 on that barren crag, he was about to die. 
 
 “Why not here, as well as in a feather bed, twenty 
 years hence,” he muttered, as he seated himself in the 
 shelter of a bowlder. 
 
 Before sitting down he had deposited upon the ground 
 his useless rifle, and also a large bundle tied up in a gray 
 shawl, which he had carried slung over his right shoulder. 
 It appeared to be somewhat too heavy for his strength, 
 for, in lowering it, it came down on the ground with 
 some little violence. Instantly there broke from the gray 
 parcel a little moaning cry, and from it there protruded 
 a small, scared face, with very bright brown eyes, and 
 two little speckled dimpled fists. 
 
 “You’ve hurt me,” said a childish voice, reproachfully. 
 
 “Have I, though?” the man answered, penitently; “I 
 didn’t go for to do it.” 
 
 As he spoke he unwrapped the gray shawl and extri- 
 cated a pretty little girl of about five years of age, whose 
 dainty shoes and smart pink frock, with its little linen 
 apron, all bespoke a mother’s care. The child was pale 
 and wan, but her healthy arms and legs showed that 
 she had suffered less than her companion. 
 
 _~ “How is it now?” he answered, anxiously, for she was 
 still rubbing the towsy golden curls which covered the 
 back of her head. 
 
 “Kiss it and make it well,” she said, with perfect grav- 
 
68 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 ity, showing the injured part up to him. “That’s what 
 mother used to do. Where’s mother?” 
 
 “Mother’s gone. I guess you'll see her before long.” 
 
 “Gone, eh!” said the little girl. “Funny she didn’t 
 say good-by; she ’most always did if she was just goin’ 
 over to auntie’s for tea, and now she’s been away for 
 three days. Say, its’ awful dry, ain’t it? Ain’t there no 
 water nor nothing to eat?” 
 
 “No, there ain’t nothing, dearie. You'll just need to be 
 patient awhile, and then you'll be all right. Put your 
 head up agin me, like that, and then you'll feel better. 
 It ain’t easy to talk when your lips is like leather, but I 
 guess I’d best let you know how the cards lie. What’s 
 that you’ve got?” 
 
 “Pretty things! fine things!” cried the little girl, en- 
 thusiastically, holding up two glittering fragments of mica. 
 “When we goes back to home I'll give them to brother 
 Bob.” 
 
 “You'll see prettier things than them soon,” said the 
 man, confidently. “You just wait a bit. I was going to 
 tell you, gen Arb remember when we left the river?” 
 
 "OH, ¥ 
 
 Well, we reckoned we'd strike another river soon, d’ye 
 see. But there was somethin’ wrong ; compasses, or map, 
 or somethin’, and it didn’t turn up. Water ran out. Just 
 except a little drop for the likes of you and—and——” 
 
 “And you couldn’t wash yourself,” interrupted his com- 
 panion, gravely, staring up at his grimy visage. 
 
 “No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he was the first 
 to go, and then Indian Pete, and then Mrs. McGregor, 
 and then Johnny Hones, and then, dearie, your mother.” 
 
 “Then mother’s a deader, too,’”’ cried the little girl, 
 dropping her face in her pinafore and sobbing bitterly. 
 
 “Yes; they all went except you and me. Then I thought 
 there was some chance of water in this direction, so I 
 heaved you over my shoulder and we tramped it to- 
 gether. It don’t seem as though we’ve improved matters. 
 There’s an almighty small chance for us now!” 
 
 “Do you mean that we are going'to die, too?” asked 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET | 69 
 
 ne child, checking her sobs, and raising her tear-stained 
 ace. 
 
 “I guess that’s about the size of it.” 
 
 “Why didn’t you say so before?” she said, laughing 
 gleefully. “You gave me such a fright. Why, ‘of course, 
 now as long as we die we'll be with mother again.” 
 
 “Yes, you will, dearie.” 
 
 “And you, too—I’ll tell her how awful good you’ve 
 been. I'll bet she meets us at the door of heaven with 
 a big pitcher of water, and a lot of buckwheat cakes, 
 hot, and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me was tond 
 of. How long will it be first?” 
 
 “T don’t know—not very long.” 
 
 The man’s eyes were fixed upon the northern horizon. 
 In the blue vault of heaven there appeared three little 
 specks which increased in size every moment, so rapidly 
 did they approach. They speedily resolved themselves 
 into three large brown birds, which circled over the heads 
 of the two wanderers, and then settled upon some rocks 
 which overlooked them. They were buzzards, the vul- 
 tures of the West, whose coming is the forerunner of 
 death. 
 
 “Cocks and hens,” cried the little girl, gleefully, point- 
 ing at their ill-omened forms, and clapping her hands 
 to make them rise. ‘Say, did God make this country?” 
 
 “In course He did,” said her companion, rather star- 
 tled by this unexpected question. 
 
 “He made the country down in Illinois, and He made 
 the Missouri,” the little girl continued. “I guess some- 
 body else made the country in these parts. It’s not nearly 
 so well done. They forgot the water and the trees.” 
 
 “What would ye think of A ae up prayer?” the 
 man asked, diffidently. 
 
 “Tt ain’t night yet,” she arewered, 
 
 » “Tt don’t matter. It ain’t quite regular, but He won’t 
 mind that, you bet. You say over them ones that you 
 used to say every night in the wagon when we was on 
 the plains.” 
 
 “Why don’t you say some yourself?” the child asked, 
 with wondering eyes. 
 
70 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “I disremember them,” he answered. “I hain’t said 
 none since I was half the height o’ that gun. I guess 
 it’s never too late. You say them out, and I'll stand 
 by and come in on the choruses.” 
 
 “Then you'll need to kneel down, and me, too,’ she 
 said, laying the shawl out for that purpose. “You've 
 got to put your hands up like this. It makes you feel 
 kind of good.” 
 
 It was a strange sight, had there been anything but 
 the buzzards to see it. Side by side on the narrow shawl 
 knelt the two wanderers, the little, prattling child and the 
 reckless, hardened adventurer. Her chubby face and his 
 haggard, angular visage were both turned up to the cloud- 
 less heaven in heartfelt entreaty to that dread Being with 
 whom they were face to face, while the two voices—the 
 one thin and clear, the other deep and harsh—united in 
 the entreaty for mercy and forgiveness. The prayer fin- 
 ished, they resumed their seat in the shadow of the 
 bowlder until the child fell asleep, nestling on the broad 
 breast of her protector. He watched over her slumber for 
 some time, but Nature proved too strong for him. For 
 three days and three nights he had allowed himself neither 
 rest nor repose. Slowly the eyelids drooped over the 
 tired eyes, and the head sank lower and lower upon the 
 breast, until the man’s grizzled beard was mixed with the 
 golden tresses of his companion, and both slept the same 
 deep and dreamless slumber. 
 
 Had the wanderer remained awake for another half- 
 hour a strange sight would have met his eyes. Far away 
 on the extreme verge of the alkali plain there rose up a 
 little spray of dust, very slight at first, and hardly to be 
 distinguished from the mists of the distance, but grad- 
 ually growing higher and broader, until it formed a solid, 
 well-defined cloud. This cloud continued to increase in 
 size until it became evident that it could only be raised 
 by a great multitude of moving creatures. In more fertile 
 spots the observer would have come to the conclusion 
 that one of those great herds of bisons which graze upon 
 the prairie-land was approaching him. This was ob- 
 viously impossible in these arid wilds. As the whirl of 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 71 
 
 dust drew nearer to the solitary bluff upon which the two 
 castaways were reposing, the canvas-covered tilts of 
 wagons and the figures of armed horsemen began 
 to show up through the haze, and the apparition revealed 
 itself as being a great caravan upon its journey for the 
 West. But what a caravan! When the head of it had 
 reached the base of the mountains, the rear was not yet 
 visible on the horizon. Right across the enormous plain 
 stretched the straggling array, wagons and carts, men 
 on horseback, and men on foot. Innumerable women who 
 staggered along under burdens, and children who toddled 
 beside the wagons or peeped out from under the white 
 coverings. This was evidently no ordinary party of im- 
 migrants, but rather some nomad people who had been 
 compelled from stress of circumstances to seek them- 
 selves a new country. There rose through the clear air 
 a confused\clattering and rumbling from this great mass 
 of humanity, with the creaking of wheels and the neigh- 
 ing of horses. Loud as it was, it was not sufficient to 
 rouse the two tired wayfarers above them. 
 
 At the head of the column there rose a score or more 
 of grave, iron-faced men, clad in sober homespun gar- 
 ments and armed with rifles. On reaching the base of 
 the bluff they halted and held a short council among 
 themselves. 
 
 “The wells are to the right, my brothers,” said one, a 
 hard-lipped, clean-shaven man with grizzly hair. 
 
 “To the right of the Sierra Blanco—so we shall reach 
 the Rio Grande,” said another. 
 
 “Fear not for water,’ cried a third. He who could 
 draw it from the rocks will not now abandon His own 
 chosen people.” 
 
 “Amen! amen!” responded the whole party. 
 
 They were about to resume their journey when one 
 of the youngest and keenest-eyed uttered an exclamation 
 and pointed up at the rugged crag above them. From 
 its summit there fluttered a little wisp of pink, showing 
 up hard and bright against the gray rocks behind. At the 
 sight there was a general reining up of horses and un- 
 slinging of guns, while fresh horsemen came galloping 
 
 > 
 
72 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 up to reinforce the vanguard. The word “redskins’” was 
 on every lip. 
 
 “There can’t be any number of Injuns here,” said the 
 elderly man who appeared to be in command. “We have 
 passed the Pawnees, and there are no other tribes until 
 we cross the great mountains.” 
 
 “Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stangerson?”’ 
 asked one of the band. 
 
 “And I,” “And I,” cried a dozen voices. 
 
 “Leave your horses below and we will wait you here,” 
 the elder answered. In a moment the young fellows 
 had dismounted, fastened their horses, and were ascending 
 the precipitous slope which led up to the object which 
 had excited their curiosity. They advanced rapidly and 
 noiselessly, with the confidence and dexterity of prac- 
 ticed scouts. The watchers from the plain below could 
 see them flit from rock to rock until their figures stood 
 out against the sky-line. The young man who had first 
 given the alarm was leading them. Suddenly his fol- 
 lowers saw him throw up his hands, as though overcome 
 with astonishment, and, on joining him, they were affected 
 in the same way by the sight which met their eyes. 
 
 On the little plateau which crowned the barren hill 
 there stood a single giant bowlder, and against this bowl- 
 ' der there lay a tall man, long-bearded and hard-featured, 
 but of an excessive thinness; his placid face and regular 
 breathing showed that he was fast asleep. Beside him 
 lay a little child, with her round white arms encircling 
 his brown, sinewy neck, and her golden-haired head rest- 
 ing upon the breast of his velveteen tunic. Her rosy 
 lips were parted, showing the regular line of snow-white 
 teeth within, and a playful smile played over her infan- 
 tile features. Her plump little white legs, terminating 
 in white socks and neat shoes with shining buckles, offered 
 a strange contrast to the long, shriveled members of 
 her companion. On the ledge of rock above this strange 
 couple there stood three solemn buzzards, who, at 
 the sight of the newcomers, uttered raucous screams of 
 disappointment and flapped sullenly away. 
 
 The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers, 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 73 
 
 who stared about them in bewilderment. The man stag- 
 gered to his feet and looked down upon the plain which 
 had been so desolate when sleep had overtaken him, and 
 which was now traversed by this enormous body of men 
 and beasts. His face assumed an expression of incre- 
 dulity as he gazed, and he passed his bony hand over his 
 eyes. 
 
 “This is what they call delirium, I guess,” he mut- 
 tered. The child stood beside him, holding on to the skirt 
 of his coat, and said nothing, but looked all round her 
 with the wondering, questioning gaze of childhood. 
 
 The rescuing party were speedily able to convince the 
 two castaways that their appearance was no delusion. 
 One of them seized the little girl, and hoisted her upon 
 his shoulder, while two others supported her gaunt com- 
 panion and assisted him toward the wagons. 
 
 “My name is John Ferrier,” the wanderer explained; 
 “me and that little ’un are all that’s left o’ twenty-one 
 people. The rest is all dead o’ thirst and hunger away 
 down in the south.” 
 
 “Is she your child?’ asked some one. 
 
 “T guess she is now,” the other cried, defiantly; “she’s 
 mine cause I saved her. No man will take her away from 
 me. She’s Lucy Ferrier from this day on. Who are 
 you, though?” he continued, glancing with curiosity at 
 his stalwart, sunburned rescuers; “there seems to be a 
 powerful lot of ye.” 
 
 “Nigh upon ten thousand,” said one of the young men; 
 “we are the persecuted children of God—the chosen of 
 the angel Merona.”’ 
 
 “IT never heard tell on him,” said the wanderer. “He 
 appears to have chosen a fair crowd of ye.” 
 
 “Do: not jest at that which is sacred,” said the other, 
 sternly. “We are of those who believe in those sacred 
 writings, drawn in Egyptian letters on plates of beaten 
 gold, which were handed unto the holy Joseph Smith, 
 at Palmyra. We have come from Nauvoo, in the State 
 of Illinois, where we had founded our temple. We have 
 come to seek a refuge from the violent man and from 
 the godless, even though it be in the heart of the desert.” 
 
 bd 
 
74 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections 
 to John Ferrier. 
 
 “T see,” he said; “you are the Mormons.” 
 
 “We are the Mormons,” answered his companions, 
 with one voice. 
 
 “And where are you going?” 
 
 “We do not know. The hand of God is leading us 
 under the person of our prophet. You must come before 
 him. He shall say what is to be done with you.” 
 
 They had reached the base of the hill by this time, and 
 were surrounded by crowds of the pilgrims—pale-faced, 
 meek-looking women, strong, laughing children, and anx- 
 ious, earnest-eyed men. Many were the cries of aston- 
 ishment and of commiseration which arose from them 
 when they perceived the youth of one of the strangers 
 and the destitution of the other. Their escort did not 
 halt, however, but pushed on, followed by a great crowd 
 of Mormons, until they reached a wagon which was 
 conspicuous for its great size and for the gaudiness and 
 smartness of its appearance. Six horses were yoked to it, 
 whereas the others were furnished with two, or, at most, 
 four apiece. Beside the driver there sat a man who could 
 not have been more than thirty years of age, but whose 
 massive head and resolute expression marked him as a 
 leader. He was reading a brown-backed volume, but as 
 the crowd approached he iaid it aside, and listened atten- 
 tively to an account of the episode. Then he turned to 
 the two castaways. 
 
 “If we take you with us,” he said, in solemn words, 
 “it can only be as believers in our own creed. We shall 
 have no wolves in our fold. Better far that your bones 
 should bleach in this wilderness than that you should 
 prove to be that little speck of decay which in time cor- 
 rupts the whole fruit. Will you come with us on these 
 terms?” 
 
 “Guess Tl come with you on any terms,” said Fer- 
 rier, with such emphasis that the grave elders could not 
 restrain a smile. The leader alone retained his stern, im- 
 pressive expression, 
 
 “Take him, Brother Stangerson,” he said; “give him 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 75 
 
 food and drink, and the child likewise. Let it be your 
 task also to teach him our holy creed. We have delayed 
 long enough. Forward! On, on to Zion!” 
 
 “On, on to Zion!” cried the crowd of Mormons, and 
 the words rippled down the long caravan, passing from 
 mouth to mouth until they died away in a dull murmur 
 in the far distance. With a cracking of whips and a 
 creaking of wheels the great wagon got into motion, and 
 soon the whole caravan was winding along once more. 
 The elder to whose care the two waifs had been commit- 
 ted led them to his wagon, where a meal was already 
 awaiting them. 
 
 “You shall remain here,” he said. “In a few days 
 you will have recovered from your fatigues. In the mean- 
 time, remember that now and forever you are of our re- 
 ligion. Brigham Young has said it, and he has spoken 
 with the voice of Joseph Smith, which is the voice of 
 
 God.” 
 CHAPTER II 
 THE FLOWER OF UTAH 
 
 TuHIs is not the place to commemorate the trials and 
 privations endured by the immigrant Mormons before 
 they came to their final haven. From the shores of the 
 Mississippi to the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains 
 they had struggled on with a constancy almost unparal- 
 leled in history. The savage man and the savage beast, 
 hunger, thirst, fatigue, and disease—every impediment 
 which Nature could place in the way, had all been over- 
 come with Anglo-Saxon tenacity. Yet the long journey 
 and the accumulated terrors had shaken the hearts of the 
 stoutest among them. There was not one who did not 
 sink upon his knees in heartfelt prayer when they saw 
 the broad valley of Utah bathed in the sunlight beneath 
 them, and learned from the lips of their leader that this 
 was the promised land, and that these virgin acres were 
 to be theirs forevermore. 
 
 Young speedily proved himself to be a skillful admin- 
 istrator, as well as a resolute chief. Maps were drawn 
 
76 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 and charts prepared, in which the future city was sketched 
 out. All around farms were apportioned and allotted in 
 proportion to the standing of each individual. The trades- 
 man was put to his trade and the artisan to his calling. 
 In the town streets and squares sprang up as if by magic. 
 In the country there was draining and hedging, planting 
 and clearing, until the next summer saw the whole country 
 golden with the wheat crop. Everything prospered in the 
 strange settlement. Above all, the great temple which 
 they had erected in the center of the city grew taller 
 and larger. From the first blush of dawn until the closing 
 of the twilight the clatter of the hammer and the rasp 
 of the saw was never absent from the monument which 
 the emigrants erected to Him who had led them safe 
 through many dangers. 
 
 The two castaways, John Ferrier and the little girl who 
 had shared his fortunes and had been adopted as his 
 daughter, accompanied the Mormons to the end of their 
 great pilgrimage. Little Lucy Ferrier was borne along 
 pleasantly enough in Elder Stangerson’s wagon, a retreat 
 which she shared with the Mormon’s three wives and with 
 his son, a headstrong, forward boy of twelve. Having 
 rallied, with the elasticity of childhood, from the shock 
 caused by her mother’s death, she soon became a pet with 
 the women, and reconciled herself to this new life in her 
 moving canvas-covered home. In the meantime Ferrier, 
 having recovered from his privations, distinguished him- 
 self as a useful guide and an indefatigable hunter. So 
 rapidly did he gain the esteem of his new companions 
 that when they reached the end of their wanderings it 
 was unanimously agreed that he should be provided with 
 as large and fertile a tract of land as any of the settlers, 
 with the exception of Young himself, and of Stangerson, 
 Kimball, Johnston, and Drebber, who were the four prin- 
 cipal elders. ; 
 
 On the farm thus acquired John Ferrier built himself 
 a substantial log-house, which received so many additions 
 in succeeding years that it grew into a roomy villa. He 
 was a man of a practical turn of mind, keen in his deal- 
 ings, and skillful with his hands. His iron constitution 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET V7 
 
 enabled him to work morning and evening at improving 
 and tilling his lands. Hence it came about that his farm 
 and all that belonged to him prospered exceedingly. In 
 three years he was better off than his neighbors, in six he 
 was well-to-do, in nine he was rich, and in twelve there 
 were not half a dozen men in the whole of Salt Lake 
 City who could compare with him. From the great inland 
 sea to the distant Wahsatch Mountains there was no name 
 better known than that of John Ferrier. 
 
 There was one way, and only one, in which he offended 
 the susceptibilities of his co-religionists. No argument 
 or persuasion could ever induce him to set up a female 
 establishment after the manner of his companions. He 
 never gave reasons for this persistent refusal, but con- 
 tented himself by resolutely and inflexibly adhering to his 
 determination. There were some who accused him of 
 lukewarmness in his adopted religion, and others who put 
 it down to greed of wealth and reluctance to incur ex- 
 pense. Others, again, spoke of some early love affair, 
 and of a fair-haired girl who had pined away on the 
 shores of the Atlantic. Whatever the reason, Ferrier re- 
 mained strictly celibate. In every other respect he con- 
 formed to the religion of the young settlement, and 
 gained the: name of being an orthodox and straight- 
 walking man. 
 
 Lucy Ferrier grew up within the log-house, and as- 
 sisted her adopted father in all his undertakings. The 
 keen air of the mountains and the balsamic odor of the 
 pine-trees took the place of nurse and mother to the 
 young girl. As year succeeded to year she grew taller and 
 stronger, her cheek more ruddy, and her step more elastic. 
 Many a wayfarer upon the high road which ran by 
 Ferrier’s farm felt long-forgotten thoughts revive in his 
 mind as he watched her lithe, girlish figure tripping 
 through the wheat-fields, or met her mounted upon her 
 father’s mustang, and managing it with all the ease and 
 grace of a true child of the West. So the bud blos- 
 somed into a flower, and the year which saw her father 
 the richest of the farmers left her as fair a specimen of 
 
78 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 American girlhood as could be found in the whole Pacific 
 slope. 
 
 It was not the father, however, who first discovered 
 that the child had developed into the woman. It seldom 
 is in such cases. That mysterious change is too subtle 
 and too gradual to be measured by dates. Least of all 
 does the maiden herself know it until the tone of a voice 
 or the touch of a hand sets her heart thrilling within 
 her, and she learns, with a mixture of pride and of fear, 
 that a new and larger nature has awakened within her. 
 There are few who cannot recall that day and remem- 
 ber the one little incident which heralded the dawn of a 
 new life. In the case of Lucy Ferrier the occasion was 
 serious enough in itself, apart from its future influence 
 on her destiny and that of many besides. 
 
 It was a warm June morning, and the Latter-Day Saints 
 were as busy as the bees whose hives they have chosen 
 for their emblem. In the fields and in the streets rose 
 the same hum of human industry. Down the dusty high- 
 roads defiled long streams of heavily laden mules, all 
 heading to the West, for the gold fever had broken out 
 in California, and the overland Route lay through the 
 City of the Elect. There, too, were droves of sheep and 
 bullocks coming in from the outlying pasture lands, and 
 trains of tired immigrants, men and horses equally weary 
 of their interminable journey. Through all this motley 
 assemblage, threading her way with the skill of an ac- 
 complished rider, there galloped Lucy Ferrier, her fair 
 face flushed with the exercise and her long chestnut hair 
 floating out behind her. She had a commission from 
 her father in the city, and was dashing in as she had 
 done many a time before, with all the fearlessness of 
 youth, thinking only of her task and how it was to be 
 performed. The travel-stained adventurers gazed after 
 her in astonishment, and even the unemotional Indians, 
 journeying in with their peltry, relaxed their accustomed 
 stoicism as they marveled at the beauty of the pale-faced 
 maiden. 
 
 She had reached the outskirts of the city when she 
 found the road blocked by a great drove of cattle, driven 
 
 \ 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 12 
 
 by half a dozen wild-looking herdsmen from the plains. 
 In her impatience she endeavored to pass this obstacle 
 by pushing her horse into what appeared to be a gap. 
 Searcely had she got fairly into it, however; before the 
 beasts closed in behind her, and she found herself com- 
 pletely imbedded in the moving stream of fierce-eyed, 
 long-horned bullocks. Accustomed as she was to deal 
 with cattle, she was not alarmed at her situation, but took 
 advantage of every opportunity to urge her horse on in 
 the hope of pushing her way through the cavaicade. Un- 
 fortunately the horns of one of the creatures, either by 
 accident or design, came in violent contact with the flank 
 of the mustang, and excited it to madness. In an instant 
 it reared up upon its hind legs with a snort of rage, 
 and pranced and tossed in a way that would have un- 
 seated any but a most skillful rider. The situation was 
 full of peril. Every plunge of the excited horse brought 
 it against the horns again, and goaded it to fresh mad- 
 ness. It was all that the girl could do to keep herself in 
 the saddle, yet a slip would mean a terrible death under 
 the hoofs of the unwieldy and terrified animals. Un- 
 accustomed to sudden emergencies, her head began to 
 swim and her grip upon the bridle to relax. Choked by 
 the rising cloud of dust and by the steam from the 
 struggling creatures, she might have abandoned her efforts 
 in despair but for a kindly voice at her elbow which as- 
 sured her of assistance. At the same moment a sinewy 
 brown hand caught the frightened horse by the curb, and, 
 forcing a way through the drove, soon brought her to the 
 outskirts. 
 
 “You’re not hurt, I hope, miss,” said her preserver, 
 respectfully. 
 
 She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed 
 saucily. 
 
 “T’m awfully frightened,” she said, naively; “who- 
 ever would have thought that Poncho would have been 
 so scared by a lot of cows?” 
 
 “Thank God you kept your seat,” the other said, 
 earnestly. He was a tall, savage-looking young fellow, 
 mounted on a powerful roan horse, and clad in the rough 
 
80 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over his shoul- 
 der. “I guess you are the daughter of John Ferrier,” 
 he remarked. “I saw you ride down from his house. 
 When you see him, ask him if he remembers the Jeffer- 
 son Hopes of St. Louis. If he’s the same Ferrier, my 
 father and he were pretty thick.” 
 
 “Hadn’t you better come and ask yourself?” she asked, 
 demurely. 
 
 The young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, 
 and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure. 
 
 “T’ll do so,’ he said; “we’ve been in the mountains 
 for two months, and are not over and above in seniors 3 
 condition. He must take us as he finds us.’ 
 
 “He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have. 
 I,” she answered; “he’s awful fond of me. If those 
 cows had jumped on me he’d have never got over it.” 
 
 “Neither would I,” said her companion. 
 
 “Your Well, I don’t see that it would make much 
 matter to you, ‘anyhow. You ain’t even a friend of 
 ours.’ 
 
 The young hunter’s dark face grew so gloomy over 
 this remark that Lucy Ferrier laughed aloud. 
 
 “There, I didn’t mean that,” she said; “of course you 
 are a friend now. You must come and see us. Now I 
 must push along, or father won’t trust me with his busi- 
 ness any more. Good-by.” 
 
 .“Good-by,” he answered, raising his broad sombrero 
 and bending over her little hand. She wheeled her mus- 
 tang round, gave it a cut with her riding-whip, and 
 darted away down the broad road in a rolling cloud of 
 dust. 
 
 Young Jefferson Hope rode on with his companions, 
 gloomy and taciturn. He and they had been among the 
 Nevada Mountains prospecting for silver, and were re- 
 turning to Salt Lake City in the hope of raising capital 
 enough to work some lodes which they had discovered. 
 He had been as keen as any of them upon the business 
 until this sudden incident had drawn his thoughts into 
 another channel. The sight of the fair young girl, as 
 frank and wholesome as the Sierra breezes, had stirred 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 81 
 
 his volcanic, untamed heart to its very depths. When 
 she had vanished from his sight he realized that a crisis 
 had come in his life, and that neither silver speculations 
 nor any other questions could ever be of such importance 
 to him as this new and all-absorbing one. The love which 
 had sprung up in his heart was not the sudden, changeable 
 fancy of a boy, but rather the wild, fierce passion of a 
 man of strong will and imperious temper. He had been 
 accustomed to succeed in all that he undertook. He swore 
 in his heart he would not fail in this if human effort and 
 human perseverance could render him successful. 
 
 He called on John Ferrier that night, and many times 
 again, until his face was a familiar one at the farm- 
 house. John, cooped up in the valley and absorbed in his 
 work, had little chance of learning the news from the 
 outside world during the last twelve years. All this Jef- 
 ferson Hope was able to tell him, and in a style which 
 interested Lucy as well as her father. He had been a 
 pioneer in California, and could narrate many a strange 
 tale of fortunes made and fortunes lost in those wild, 
 halcyon days. He had been a scout, too, and a trapper, 
 a silver explorer, and a ranchman. Wherever stirring ad- 
 ventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope had been there 
 in search of them. He soon became a favorite with the 
 old farmer, who spoke eloquently of his virtues. On 
 such occasions Lucy was silent, but her blushing cheek 
 and her bright, happy eyes, showed only too clearly that 
 her young heart was no longer her own. Her honest 
 father may not have observed these symptoms, but they 
 were assuredly not thrown away upon the man who had 
 won her affections. 
 
 It was a summer evening when he came galloping 
 down the road and pulled up at the gate. She was at 
 the doorway, and came down to meet him. He threw the 
 bridle over the fence and strode up the pathway. 
 
 “I am off, Lucy,” he said, taking her two hands in 
 his and gazing tenderly down into her face; “I won't 
 ask you to come with me now, but will you be ready to 
 come when I am here again?” | 
 
82 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “And when will that ber” she asked, blushing and 
 laughing. : 
 
 “A couple of months at the outside. I will come and 
 claim you then, my darling. There’s no one who can 
 stand between us.” 
 
 ‘And how about father?’ she asked. 
 
 “He has given his consent, provided we get these mines 
 working all right. I have no fear on that head.” 
 
 “Oh, well, of course, if you and father have arranged 
 it all, there’s no more to be said,” she whispered, with 
 her cheek against his broad breast. 
 
 “Thank God!” he said, hoarsely, stooping and kissing 
 her. “It is settled then. The longer I stay the harder 
 it will be for me to go. They are waiting for me at the 
 canyon. Good-by, my own darling—good-by. In two 
 months you shall see me.” 
 
 He tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flinging 
 himself upon his horse, galloped furiously away, never 
 even looking round, as though afraid that his resolution 
 might fail him if he took one glance at what he was 
 leaving. She stood at the gate, gazing after him until 
 he vanished from sight. Then she walked back into the 
 house, the happiest girl in all Utah. 
 
 CHAPLER if 
 
 JOHN FERRIER TALKS WITH THE PROPHET 
 
 THREE weeks had passed since Jefferson Hope and his 
 comrades had departed from Salt Lake City. John Fer- 
 rier’s heart was sore within him when he thought of 
 the young man’s return, and of the impending loss of his 
 adopted child. Yet her bright and happy face reconciled 
 him to the arrangement more than any argument could 
 have done. He had always determined, deep down in 
 his resolute heart, that nothing would ever induce him 
 to allow his daughter to wed a Mormon. Such a marriage 
 he regarded as no marriage at all, but as a shame and a 
 disgrace. Whatever he might think of the Mormon doc- 
 trines, upon that one point he was inflexible. He had 
 to seal his mouth on the subject, however, for to ex- 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 83 
 
 press an unorthodox opinion was a dangerous matter 
 in those days in the Land of the Saints. 
 
 Yes, a dangerous matter—so dangerous that even the 
 most saintly dared only whisper their religious opinions 
 with bated breath, lest something which fell from their 
 lips might be misconstrued and bring down a swift retri- 
 bution upon them. The victims of persecution had now 
 turned persecutors on their own account, and _ perse- 
 cutors of the most terrible description. Not the in- 
 quisition of Seville, nor the German Vehmgericht, nor 
 the secret societies of Italy, were ever able to put a more 
 formidable machinery in motion than that which cast a 
 cloud over the Territory of Utah. 
 
 Its invisibility, and the mystery which was attached 
 to it, made this organization doubly terrible. It appeared 
 to be omniscent and omnipotent, and yet was neither seen 
 nor heard. The man who held out against the church 
 vanished away, and none knew whither he had gone or 
 what had befallen him. His wife and children awaited 
 him at home, but no father had ever returned to tell 
 them how he had fared at the hands of his secret judges. 
 A rash word or a hasty act was followed by annihilation, 
 and yet none knew what the nature might be of this 
 terrible power which was suspended over them. No won- 
 der that men went about in fear and trembling, and that 
 even in the heart of the wilderness they dared not whisper 
 the doubts which oppressed them. 
 
 At first this vague and terrible power was exercised 
 only upon the recalcitrants, who, having embraced the 
 Mormon faith, wished afterward to pervert or to abandon 
 it. Soon, however, it took a wider range. The supply of 
 adult women was running short, and polygamy, without 
 a female population on which to draw, was a barren doc- 
 trine indeed. Strange rumors began to be bandied about 
 —rumors of murdered immigrants and rifled camps in 
 tegions where Indians had never been seen. Fresh women 
 appeared in the harems of the elders—women who pined 
 and wept, and bore upon their faces the traces of an un- 
 extinguishable horror. Belated wanderers upon the 
 mountains spoke of gangs of armed men, masked, stealthy, 
 
84 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 and noiseless, who flitted by them in the darkness. These 
 tales and rumors took substance and shape, and were 
 corroborated and recorroborated, until they resolved 
 themselves into a definite name. To this day, in the 
 lonely ranches of the West, the name of the Danite 
 Band, or the Avenging Angels, is a sinister and an ill- 
 omened one. 
 
 Fuller knowledge of the organization which produced 
 such terrible results served to increase rather than to 
 lessen the horror which it inspired in the minds of men. 
 None knew who belonged to this ruthless society. The 
 names of the participators in the deeds of blood and 
 violence, done under the name of religion, were kept 
 profoundly secret. The very friend to whom you com- 
 municated your misgivings as to the prophet and his mis- 
 sion might be one of those who would come forth at night 
 with fire and sword to exact a terrible reparation. Hence 
 every man feared his neighbor, and none spoke of the 
 things which were nearest his heart. 
 
 One fine morning John Ferrier was about to set out 
 to his wheat fields when he heard the click of the latch, 
 and, looking through the window, saw a stout, sandy- 
 haired, middle-aged man coming up the pathway. His 
 heart leaped to his mouth, for this was none other than 
 the great Brigham Young himself. Full of trepidation, 
 for he knew that such a visit boded him little good, Fer- 
 rier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief. The 
 latter, however, received his salutation coldly, and followed 
 him with a stern face into the sitting-room. 
 
 “Brother Ferrier,’ he said, taking a seat and eyeing 
 the farmer keenly from under his light-colored eye-lashes, 
 “the true believers have been good friends to you. We 
 picked you up when you were starving in the desert, we 
 shared our food with you, led you safe to the Chosen 
 Valley, gave you a goodly share of land, and allowed you 
 to wax rich under our protection. Is not this so?” 
 
 “It is so,” answered John Ferrier. 
 
 “In return for all this we asked but one condition: 
 that was, that you should embrace the true faith, and con- 
 form in every way to its usages. This you promised 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 85 
 
 to do, and this, if common report says truly, you have 
 neglected.”’ 
 
 “And how have I neglected it?” asked Ferrier, throwing 
 out his hands in expostulation. “Have I not given to the 
 common fund? Have I not attended at the temple? 
 Have I not - 
 
 “Where are your wives?” asked Young, looking round 
 him. “Call them in, that I may greet them.” 
 
 “Tt is true that I have not married,” Ferrier answered. 
 “But women were few, and there were many who had bet- 
 ter claims than I. I was not a lonely man; I had my 
 daughter to attend to my wants.” 
 
 “It is of the daughter that I would speak to you,” said 
 the leader of the Mormons. “She has grown to be the 
 flower of Utah, and has found favor in the eyes of many 
 who are high in the land.” 
 
 John Ferrier groaned internally. 
 
 “There are stories of her which I would fain disbe- 
 lieve—stories that she is sealed to some Gentile. This 
 must be the gossip of idle tongues. What is the thir- 
 teenth rule in the code of the sainted Joseph Smith? 
 ‘Let every maiden of the true faith marry. one of the 
 elect; for if she wed a Gentile, she commits a grievous 
 sin.’ This being so, it is impossible that you, who pro- 
 fess the holy creed, should suffer your daughter to vio- 
 late’ it.' 
 
 John Ferrier made no answer, but he played nervously 
 with his riding-whip. 
 
 “Upon this one point your whole faith shall be tested— 
 so it has been decided in the Sacred Council of Four. 
 The girl is young, and we would not have her wed gray 
 hairs, neither would we deprive her of all choice. We 
 elders have many heifers,* but our children must also 
 be provided. Stangerson has a son, and Drebber has 
 a son, and either of them would gladly welcome vour 
 daughter to their house. Let her choose between them. 
 They are young and rich, and of the true faith. What 
 say you to that?” 
 
 * Heber C. Kimball, in one of his sermons, alludes to his hundred 
 wives under this endearing epithet. 
 
 5 
 
86 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 Ferrier remained silent for some little time with his 
 brows knitted. 
 
 “You will give us time,” he said, at last. “My daugh- 
 ter is very young—she is scarce of an age to marry.” 
 
 “She shall have a month to choose,” said Young, ris- 
 ing from his seat. “At the end of that time she shall 
 give her answer.” 
 
 He was passing through the door when he turned, with 
 flushed face and flashing eyes. 
 
 “Tt were better for you, John Ferrier,’ he thundered, 
 “that you and she were now lying blanched skeletons upon 
 the Sierra Blanco, than that you should put your weak 
 wills against the orders of the Holy Four!” 
 
 With a threatening gesture of his hand he turned from 
 the door, and Ferrier heard his heavy step scrunching 
 along the shingly path. 
 
 He was still sitting with his elbows upon his knees, 
 considering how he should broach the matter to his 
 daughter, when a soft hand was laid upon his, and, look- 
 ing up, he saw her standing beside him. One glance at 
 her pale, frightened face showed him that she had heard 
 what had passed. 
 
 “T could not help it,” she said, in answer to his look. 
 “His voice rang through the house. Oh, father! father! 
 what shall we do?” 
 
 “Don’t you scare yourself,” he answered, drawing her 
 to him and passing his broad, rough hand caressingly 
 over her chestnut hair. “We’ll fix it up somehow or an- 
 other. You don’t find your fancy kind o’ lessening for 
 this chap, do you?” 
 
 A sob and a squeeze of his hand was her only answer. 
 
 “No; of course not. I shouldn’t care to hear you say 
 you did. He’s a likely lad, and he’s a Christian, which 
 is more than these folks here, in spite o’ all their praying 
 and preaching. There’s a party starting for Nevada to- 
 morrow, and I’ll manage to send him a message letting 
 him know the hole we are in. If I know anything o’ 
 that young man, he'll be back here with a speed that 
 would whip electro-telegraphs.”’ 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 87 
 
 _ Lucy laughed through her tears at her father’s descrip- 
 tion, 
 
 “When he comes, he will advise us for the best. But 
 it is for you that I am frightened, dear. One hears— 
 one hears such dreadful stories about those who oppose 
 the prophet; something terrible always happens to them.” 
 
 “But we haven’t opposed him yet,” her father an- 
 swered. “It will be time to look out for squalls when 
 we do. We have a clear month before us; at the end of 
 that I guess we had best shin out of Utah.” 
 
 “Leave Utah?” 
 
 “That’s about the size of it.” 
 
 “But the farm?” 
 
 “We will raise as much as we can in money, and let 
 the rest go. To tell the truth, Lucy, it isn’t the first 
 time [I have thought of doing it. I don’t care about 
 knuckling under to any man, as these folk do to their 
 darned prophet. I’m a free-born American, and it’s all 
 new to me. Guess I’m too old to learn. If he comes 
 browsing about this farm he might chance to run up 
 against a charge of buckshot traveling in the opposite 
 direction.” 
 
 “But they won’t let us leave,” his daughter objected. 
 
 “Wait till Jefferson comes, and we'll soon manage 
 that. In the meantime, don’t you fret yourself, my 
 dearie, and don’t get your eyes swelled up, or else he’ll 
 be walking into me when he sees you. There’s nothing 
 to be afeard about, and there’s no danger at all.” 
 
 John Ferrier uttered those consoling remarks in a very 
 confident tone, but she could not help observing that 
 he paid unusual care to the fastening of the doors that 
 night, and that he carefully cleaned and loaded the rusty 
 old shotgun which hung upon the wall of his bedroom. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A FLIGHT FOR LIFE 
 
 On the morning which followed his interview with the 
 Mormon prophet, John Ferrier went into Salt Lake City, 
 
88 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 and having found his acquaintance who was bound for the 
 Nevada Mountains, he intrusted him with his message 
 to Jefferson Hope. In it he told the young man of the 
 imminent danger which threatened them, and how neces- 
 sary it was that he should return. Having done this, 
 he felt easier in his mind, and returned home with a 
 lighter heart. 
 
 As he approached his farm he was surprised to see a 
 horse hitched to each of the posts of the gate. Still more 
 surprised was he on entering to find two young men in 
 possession of the sitting-room. One, with a long, pale 
 face, was leaning back in the rocking chair, with his feet 
 cocked up upon the stove. The other, a bull-necked 
 youth, with coarse, bloated features, was standing in 
 front of the window, with his hands in his pockets, whis- 
 tling a popular hymn. Both of them nodded to Ferrier as 
 he entered, and the one in the rocking chair commenced 
 the conversation. 
 
 “Maybe you don’t know us,” he said. “This here is 
 the son of Elder Drebber, and I’m Joseph Stangerson, 
 who traveled with you in the desert when the Lord 
 stretched out His hand and gathered you into the true 
 fold.” 
 
 “As he will all the nations, in his own good time,” 
 said the other, in a nasal voice; “He grindeth slowly, but 
 exceeding small.” 
 
 John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed who his 
 visitors were. 
 
 “We have come,” continued Stangerson, “at the advice 
 of our fathers, to solicit the hand of your daughter for 
 whichever of us may seem good to you and to her. As 
 I have but four wives and Brother Drebber here has 
 seven, it appears to me that my claim is the stronger 
 one. 
 
 “Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson,” cried the other; “the 
 question is not how many wives we have, but how many 
 we can keep. My father has now given over his mills 
 to me, and I am the richer man.” 
 
 “But my prospects are better,” said the other, warmly. 
 “When the Lord removes my father I shall have his 
 
 3 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 89 
 
 tanning yard and his leather factory. Then I am your 
 elder, and am higher in the church.” 
 
 “It will be for the maiden to decide,” rejoined young 
 Drebber, smirking at his own reflection in the glass. 
 “We will leave it all to her decision.” 
 
 During this dialogue John Ferrier had stood fuming 
 in the doorway, hardly able to keep his riding-whip from 
 the backs of his two visitors. 
 
 “Look here,’ he said, at last, striding up to them; 
 “when my daughter summons you, you can come; until 
 then, I don’t want to see your faces again.” 
 
 The two young Mormons stared at him in amazement. 
 In their eyes this competition between them for the 
 maiden’s hand was the highest of honors both to her and 
 her father. 
 
 “There are two ways out of the room,” cried Ferrier; 
 “there is the door, and there is the window. Which do 
 you care to use?” 
 
 His brown face looked so savage, and his gaunt hands 
 so threatening, that his visitors sprang to their feet and 
 beat a hurried retreat. ‘The old farmer followed them 
 to the door. 
 
 “Let me know when you have settled which it is to be,” 
 he said, sardonically. 
 
 “You shall smart for this!’ Stangerson cried, white 
 with rage. ‘You have defied the prophet and the Council 
 of Four. You shall rue it to the end of your days.” 
 
 “The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you,” cried 
 young Drebber; “He will arise and smite you!” 
 
 “Then I’ll start the smiting,’ exclaimed Ferrier, fu- 
 riously, and he would have rushed up stairs for his gun 
 had not Lucy seized him by the arm and restrained 
 him. Before he could escape from her the clatter of 
 horses’ hoofs told him that they were beyond his reach. 
 
 “The young canting rascals!” he exclaimed, wiping the 
 perspiration from his forehead; “I would sooner see you 
 in your grave, my girl, than the wife of either of them.” 
 
 “And so should I, father,’ she answered, with spirit; 
 “but Jefferson will soon be here.” | 
 
 “Yes; it will not be long before he comes. The sooner 
 
 ? 
 
90 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 the better, for we do not know what their next move 
 may be.” 
 
 It was, indeed, high time that some one capable of giv- 
 ing advice and help should come to the aid of the sturdy 
 old farmer and his adopted daughter. In the whole his- 
 tory of the settlement there had never been such a case of 
 rank disobedience to the authority of the elders. If 
 minor errors were punished so sternly, what would be 
 the fate of this arch rebel? Ferrier knew that his wealth 
 and position would be of no avail to him. Others as 
 well known and as rich as himself had been spirited away 
 before now, and their goods given over to the church. 
 He was a brave man, but he trembled at the vague, 
 shadowy terrors which hung over him. Any known dan- 
 ger he could face with a firm lip, but this suspense was 
 unnerving. He concealed his fears from his daughter, 
 however, and affected to make light of the whole matter, 
 though she, with the keen eye of love, saw plainly that he 
 was ill at ease. 
 
 He expected that he would receive some message or 
 remonstrance from Young as to his conduct and he was 
 not mistaken, though it came in an unlooked-for surprise, 
 a small square of paper pinned on the coverlet of his 
 bed just over his chest. On it was printed, in bold, strag- 
 gling letters: 
 
 “Twenty-nine days are given you for amendment, and 
 then——” 
 
 The dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat 
 could have been. How this warning came into his room 
 puzzled John Ferrier sorely, for his servants slept in an 
 out-house, and the doors and windows had all been se- 
 cured. He crumpled the paper up and said nothing to 
 his daughter, but the incident struck a chill into his 
 heart. The twenty-nine days were evidently the balance 
 of the month which Young had promised. What strength 
 or courage could avail.against an enemy armed with such 
 mysterious powers? The hand which fastened that pin 
 might have struck him to the heart, and he could never 
 have known who had slain him. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 91 
 
 Still more shaken was he next morning. They had sat 
 down to their breakfast when Lucy, with a cry of sur- 
 prise, pointed upward. In the center of the ceiling was 
 scrawled, with a burned stick apparently, the number 28. 
 To his daughter it was unintelligible, and he did not 
 enlighten her. That night he sat up with his gun and 
 kept watch and ward. He saw and he heard nothing, 
 and yet in the morning a great 27 had been painted upon 
 the outside of his door. 
 
 Thus day followed day; and as sure as morning came 
 he found that his unseen enemies had kept their regis- 
 ter, and had marked up in some conspicuous position 
 how many days were still left to him out of the month 
 of grace. Sometimes the fatal numbers appeared upon 
 the walls, sometimes upon the floors; occasionally they 
 were on small placards stuck upon the garden gate or the 
 railings. With all his vigilance John Ferrier could not 
 discover whence these daily warnings proceeded. A hor- 
 ror, which was almost superstitious, came upon him at 
 the sight of them. He became haggard and restless, and 
 his eyes had the troubled look of some haunted creature. 
 He had but one hope in life now, and that was for the 
 arrival of the young hunter from Nevada. 
 
 Twenty had changed to fifteen, and fifteen to ten; but 
 there was no news of the absentee. One by one the num- 
 bers dwindled down, and still there came no sign of him. 
 Whenever a horseman clattered down the road or a driver 
 shouted at his team, the old farmer hurried to the gate, 
 thinking that help had arrived at last. At last, when he 
 saw five giving way to four, and that again to three, he 
 lost heart and abandoned all hope of escape. Single- 
 handed, and with his limited knowledge of the moun- 
 tains which surrounded the settlement, he knew that he 
 was powerless. The more frequented roads were strictly 
 watched and guarded, and none could pass along them 
 without an order from the council. Turn which way he 
 would, there appeared to be no avoiding the blow which 
 hung over him. Yet the old man never wavered in his 
 resolution to part with life itself before he consented 
 to what he regarded as his daughter’s dishonor. 
 
92 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 He was sitting alone one evening, pondering deeply 
 over his troubles, and searching vainly for some way out 
 of them, That morning had shown the figure 2 upon 
 the wall of his house, and the next day would be the last 
 of the allotted time. What was to happen then? All 
 manner of vague and terrible fancies filled his imagina- 
 tion. And his daughter—what was to become of her 
 after he was gone? Was there no escape from the in- 
 visible network which was drawn all around them? He 
 sunk his head upon the table and sobbed at the thought 
 of his own impotence. 
 
 What was that? In the silence he heard a gentle 
 scratching sound—low, but very distinct, in the quiet 
 of the night. It came from the door of the house. Fer- 
 rier crept into the hall and listened intently. There was a 
 pause for a few moments, and then the low, insidious 
 sound was repeated. Some one was evidently tapping very 
 gently upon one of the panels of the door. Was it some 
 midnight assassin who had come to carry out the mur- 
 derous order of the secret tribunal? Or was it some 
 agent who was marking up that the last day of grace 
 had arrived? John Ferrier felt that instant death would 
 be better than the suspense which shook his nerves and 
 chilled his heart. Springing forward, he drew the bolt 
 and threw the door open. 
 
 Outside all was calm and quiet. The night was fine, 
 and the stars were twinkling brightly overhead. The little 
 front garden lay before the farmer’s eyes, bounded by 
 the fence and gate; but neither there nor on the road 
 was any human being to be seen. With a sigh of relief 
 Ferrier looked to right and to left, until, happening to 
 glance straight down at his feet, he saw, to his aston- 
 ishment, a man lying flat upon his face upon the ground, 
 with his arms and legs all asprawl. 2 
 
 So unnerved was he at the sight that he leaned up 
 against the wall with his hand to his throat to stifle his in- 
 clination to call out. His first thought was that the pros- 
 rate figure was that of some wounded or dying man, but as 
 he watched it he saw it writhe along the ground and into 
 the hall with the rapidity and noiselessness of a serpent. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 93 
 
 Once within the house the man sprung to his feet, closed 
 the door, and revealed to the astonished farmer the fierce 
 face and resolute expression of Jefferson Hope. 
 
 “Good God!” gasped John Ferrier. “How you scared 
 me! What ever made you come in like that?’ 
 
 “Give me food,” the other said, hoarsely. “I have had 
 no time for bite or sup for eight-and-forty hours.” He 
 flung himself upon the cold meat and bread which were 
 still lying upon the table from his host’s supper, and de- 
 voured them voraciously. “Does Lucy bear up well?” 
 he asked, when he had satisfied his hunger. 
 
 “Ves; she does not know the danger,” her father an- 
 swered., 
 
 “That is well. The house is watched on every side. 
 That is why I crawled my way up to it. They may be 
 darned sharp, but they’re not quite sharp enough to 
 catch a Washoe hunter.” 
 
 John Ferrier felt a different man now that he realized 
 that he had a devoted ally. He seized the young man’s 
 leathery hand and wrung it cordially. 
 
 “You’re a man to be proud of,” he said. ‘There are 
 not many who would come to share our danger and our 
 troubles.” 
 
 “You've hit it there, pard,” the young hunter answered. 
 “TI have a respect for you, but if you were alone in this 
 business I’d think twice before I put my head into such 
 a hornets’ nest. It’s Lucy that brings me here, and be- 
 fore harm comes on her I guess there will be one less 0’ 
 the Hope family in Utah.” 
 
 “What are we to do?” 
 
 “To-morrow is your last day, and unless you act 
 to-night you are lost. I have a mule and two horses 
 meting in the Eagle Ravine. How much money have 
 
 ou?” 
 
 “Two thousand dollars in gold, and five in notes.” 
 
 “That will do. I have as much more to add to it. We 
 must push for Carson City through the mountains. You 
 had best wake Lucy. It. is as well that the servants do 
 not sleep in the house.” 
 
 While Ferrier was absent preparing his daughter for 
 
94 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 the approaching journey, Jefferson Hope packed all the 
 eatables that he could find into a small parcel, and filled 
 a stoneware jar with water, for he knew by experience 
 that the mountain wells were few and far between. He 
 had hardly completed his arrangements before the farmer 
 returned with his daughter, all dressed and ready for 
 a start. The greeting between the lovers was warm but 
 brief, for minutes were precious, and there was much to be 
 done. : 
 
 “We must make our start at once,” said Jefferson Hope, 
 speaking in a low but resolute voice, like one who realizes 
 the greatness of the peril, but has steeled his heart to meet 
 it. “The front and back entrances are watched, but with 
 caution we may get away through the side window and 
 across the fields. Once on the road, we are only two 
 miles from the ravine where the horses are waiting. By 
 daybreak we should be half-way through the mountains.” 
 
 “What if we are stopped?” asked Ferrier. 
 
 Hope slapped the revolver butt which protruded from 
 the front of his tunic. 
 
 “If they are too many for us, we shall take two or 
 three of them with us,” he said, with a sinister smile. 
 
 The lights inside the house had all been extinguished, 
 and from the darkened window Ferrier peered over the 
 fields which had been his own, and which he was now 
 about to abandon forever. He had long nerved himself 
 to the sacrifice, however, and the thought of the honor and 
 happiness of his daughter outweighed any regret at his 
 ruined fortunes. All looked so peaceful and happy, th: 
 rustling trees and the broad, silent stretch of grain land, 
 that it was difficult to realize that the spirit of murder 
 lurked through it all. Yet the white face and set expres- 
 sion of the young hunter showed that in his approach to 
 ee hay he had seen enough to satisfy him upon that 
 head. 
 
 Ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes, Jefferson 
 Hope had the scanty provisions and water, while Lucy 
 had a small bundle containing a few of her more valuable 
 possessions. Opening the window very slowly and care- 
 fully, they waited until a dark cloud had somewhat ob- 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 95 
 
 scured the night, and then one by one passed through 
 into the little garden. With bated breath and crouching 
 figures they stumbled across it and gained the shelter of 
 the hedge, which they skirted until they came to the gap 
 which opened into the cornfield. They had just reached 
 this point when the young man seized his two compan- 
 ions and dragged them down into the shadow, where they 
 lay silent and trembling. 
 
 It was as well that his prairie training had given 
 Jefferson Hope the ears of a lynx. He and his friends 
 had hardly crouched down before the melancholy hoot- 
 ing of a mountain owl was heard within a few yards of 
 them, which was immediately answered by another hoot 
 at a small distance. At the same moment a vague, shad- 
 owy figure emerged from the gap for which they had been 
 making, and uttered the plaintive signal cry again, on 
 which a second man appeared out of the obscurity. 
 
 “To-morrow at midnight,” said the first, who appeared 
 to be in authority. ‘When the whip-poor-will calls three 
 times.” 
 
 “It is well,” returned the other. “Shall I tell Brother 
 Drebber °°’ 
 
 “Pass it on to him, and from him to the others. Nine 
 to seven!” 
 
 “Seven to five!” repeated the other, and the two figures 
 flitted away in different directions. Their concluding 
 words had evidently been some form of sign and coun- 
 tersign. The instant that their footsteps had died away 
 in the distance Jefferson Hope sprang to his feet, and, 
 helping his companions through the gap, led the way 
 across the fields at full speed, supporting and half carry- 
 ing the girl when her strength appeared to fail her. 
 
 “Hurry on! hurry on!” he gasped from time to time. 
 “We are through the line of sentinels. Everything de- 
 pends on speed. Hurry on!” 
 
 Once on the high-road they made rapid progress. Only 
 once did they meet any one, and then they managed to 
 slip into a field, and so avoid recognition. Before reach- 
 ing the town the hunter branched away into a rugged 
 and narrow footpath which led to the mountains. Two 
 
96 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 dark, jagged peaks loomed above them through the dark- 
 ness, and the defile which led between them was the Eagle 
 Ravine, in which the horses were awaiting them. With 
 unerring instinct Jefferson Hope picked his way among 
 the great bowlders and along the bed of a dried-up water- 
 course, until he came to the retired corner, screened with 
 rocks, where the faithful animals had been picketed. The 
 girl was placed upon the mule and old Ferrier upon one 
 of the horses, with his money-bag, while Jefferson Hope 
 led the other along the precipitous and dangerous paths. 
 
 It was a bewildering route for any one who was not 
 accustomed to face Nature in her wildest moods, On the 
 one side a great crag towered up a thousand feet or more, 
 black, stern, and menacing, with long basaltic columns upon 
 his rugged surface like the ribs of some petrified mon- 
 ster. On the other hand, a wild chaos of bowlders and 
 debris made all advance impossible. Between the two 
 ran the irregular track, so narrow in places that they had 
 to travel in Indian file, and so rough that only practiced 
 riders could have traversed it at all. Yet, in spite of all 
 dangers and difficulties, the hearts of the fugitives were 
 light within them, for every step increased the distance 
 between them and the terrible despotism from which they 
 were flying. 
 
 They soon had a proof, however, that they were still 
 within the jurisdiction of the Saints. They had reached 
 the very wildest and most desolate portion of the pass, 
 when the girl gave a startled cry and pointed upward. 
 On a rock which overlooked the track, showing out dark 
 and plain against the sky, there stood a solitary sentinel. 
 He saw them as soon as they perceived him, and his mili- 
 tary challenge of “Who goes there?” rang through the 
 silent ravine. 
 
 “Travelers for Nevada,” said Jefferson Hope, with his 
 hand upon the rifle which hung by his saddle. 
 
 They could see the lonely watcher fingering his gun, 
 and peering down at them as if dissatisfied at their reply. 
 
 “By whose permission?” he asked. 
 
 “The Holy Four,” answered Ferrier. His Mormon ex- 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 97 
 
 periences had taught him that that was the highest au- 
 thority to which he could refer. 
 
 ‘Nine to seven,” cried the sentinel. 
 
 “Seven to five,” returned Jefferson Hope promptly, re- 
 membering the countersign which he had heard in the 
 garden. 
 
 “Pass, and the Lord go with you,” said the voice from 
 above. 
 
 Beyond this post the path broadened out, and the horses 
 were able to break into a trot. Looking back, they could 
 see the solitary watcher leaning upon his gun, and knew 
 that they had passed the outlying post of the Chosen 
 People, and that freedom lay before them. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE AVENGING ANGELS 
 \ 
 
 Att night long their course lay through intricate defiles 
 and over irregular and rock-strewn paths. More than 
 once they lost their way, but Hope’s intimate knowledge 
 of the mountains enabled them to regain the track once 
 more. When morning broke a scene of marvelous though 
 savage beauty lay before them. In every direction the 
 great snow-capped peaks hemmed them in, peeping over 
 one another’s shoulders to the far horizon. So steep were 
 the rocky banks on either side of them that the larch and 
 the pine seemed to be suspended over their heads, and to 
 need only a gust of wind to come hurtling down upon 
 them. Nor was the fear entirely an illusion, for the 
 barren valley was thickly strewn with trees and bowlders 
 which had fallen in a similar manner. Even as they 
 passed a great rock came thundering down with a hoarse 
 rattle which woke the echoes in the silent gorges, and 
 startled the weary horses into a gallop. 
 
 As the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon the 
 caps of the great mountains lighted up one after the 
 other, like lamps at a festival, until they were all ruddy 
 and glowing. The magnificent spectacle cheered the 
 hearts of the three fugitives and gave them fresh energy. 
 
98 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 At a wild torrent which swept out of a ravine they called 
 a halt and watered their horses, while they partook of a 
 hasty breakfast. Lucy and her father would fain have 
 rested longer, but Jefferson Hope was inexorable. 
 
 “They will be upon our track by this time,” he said. 
 “Everything depends upon our speed. Once safe in Car- 
 son, we may rest for the remainder of our lives.” 
 
 During the whole of that day they struggled on through 
 the defiles, and by evening they calculated that they were 
 over thirty miles from their enemies. At night-time 
 they chose the base of a beetling crag, where the rocks 
 offered some protection from the chill wind, and there, 
 huddled together for warmth, they enjoyed a few hours’ 
 sleep. Before daybreak, however, they were up and on 
 their way once more. They had seen no signs of any pur- 
 suers, and Jefferson Hope began to think that they were 
 fairly out of the reach of the terrible organization whose 
 enmity they had incurred. He little knew how far that 
 iron grasp could reach, or how soon it was to close upon 
 them and crush them. 
 
 About the middle of the second day of their flight their 
 scanty store of provisions began to run out. This gave 
 the hunter little uneasiness, for there was game to be had 
 among the mountains, and he had frequently before had 
 to depend upon, his rifle for the needs of life. Choosing 
 a sheltered nook he piled together a few dry branches 
 and made a blazing fire, at which his companions might 
 warm themselves, for they were now nearly five thousand 
 feet above the sea-level, and the air was bitter and keen. 
 Having tethered the horses and bid Lucy adieu, he threw 
 his gun over his shoulder and set out in search of what- 
 ever chance might throw in his way. Looking back, he 
 saw the old man and the young girl crouching over the 
 blazing fire, while the three animals stood motionless in 
 the background. Then the intervening rocks hid them 
 from his view. 
 
 He walked for a couple of miles through one ravine 
 after another without success, though from the marks 
 upon the bark of the trees and other indications he 
 judged that there were numerous bears in the vicinity. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 99 
 
 At last, after two or three hours’ fruitless search, he was 
 
 thinking of turning back in despair, when, casting his 
 eyes upward, he saw a sight which sent a thrill of pleasure 
 through his heart. On the edge of a jutting pinnacle, 
 three or four hundred feet above him, there stood a crea- 
 ture somewhat resembling a sheep in appearance, but 
 - armed with a pair of gigantic horns. The big-horn— 
 for so it is called—was acting, probably, as a guardian 
 over a flock which were invisible to the hunter; but for- 
 tunately it was heading in the opposite direction, and had 
 not perceived him. Lying on his back, he rested his 
 rifle on a rock and took a long and steady aim before 
 drawing the trigger. The animal sprang into the air, tot- 
 tered for a moment upon the edge of the precipice, and 
 then came crashing down into the valley beneath. 
 
 The creature was too unwieldy to lift, so the hunter 
 contented himself with cutting away one haunch and part 
 of the flank. With this trophy over his shoulder, he 
 hastened to retrace his steps, for the evening was already 
 drawing in. He had hardly started, however, before he 
 realized the difficulty which faced him. In his eagerness 
 he had wandered far past the ravines which were known 
 to him, and it was no easy matter to pick out the path 
 which he had taken. The valley in which he found him- 
 self divided and subdivided into many gorges, which 
 were so like one another that it was impossible to dis- 
 tinguish one from the other. He followed one for a mile 
 or more until he came to a mountain torrent which he 
 was sure that he had never seen before. Convinced that 
 he had taken the wrong turn, he tried another, but with 
 the same result. Night was coming on rapidly, and it 
 was almost dark before he at last found himself in a 
 defile which was familiar to him. [Even then it was no 
 easy matter to keep to the right track, for the moon had 
 not yet risen and the high cliffs on either side made the 
 obscurity more profound. Weighed down with his bur- 
 den, and weary from his exertions, he stumbled along, 
 keeping up his heart by the reflection that every step 
 brought him nearer to Lucy, and that he carried with him 
 
100 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 enough to insure them food for the remainder of the 
 journey. 
 
 He had now come to the mouth of the very defile in 
 which he had left them. Even in the darkness he could 
 recognize the outlines of the cliffs which bounded it. 
 They must, he reflected, be awaiting him anxiously, for 
 he had been absent nearly five hours. In the gladness 
 of his heart he put his hands to his mouth and made the 
 glen re-echo to a loud halloo as a signal that he was 
 coming. He paused and listened for an answer. None 
 came save his own cry, which clattered up the dreary, 
 silent ravines, and was borne back to his ears in countless 
 repetitions. Again he shouted, even louder than before, 
 and again no whisper came back from the friends whom 
 he had left such a short time ago. A vague, nameless 
 dread came over him, and he hurried onward frantically, 
 dropping the precious food in his agitation. 
 
 When he turned the corner he came in full sight of the 
 spot where the fire had been lighted. There was still a 
 glowing pile of wood-ashes there, but it had evidently 
 not been tended since his departure. The same dead si- 
 lence still reigned all round. With his fears all changed 
 to convictions, he hurried on. There was no living crea- 
 ture near the remains of the fire ; animals, man, maiden, all 
 were gone. It was only too clear that some sudden and 
 terrible disaster had occurred during his absence—a dis- 
 aster which had embraced them all and yet had left no 
 traces behind it. 
 
 Bewildered and stunned by this blow, Jefferson Hope 
 felt his head spin round, and had to lean upon his rifle 
 to save himself from falling. He was essentially a man 
 of action, however, and speedily recovered from his tem- 
 porary impotence. Seizing a half-consumed piece of 
 wood from the smoldering fire he blew it into a flame, 
 and proceeded with its help to examine the little camp. 
 The ground was all stamped down by the feet of horses, 
 showing that a large party of mounted men had over- 
 taken the fugitives, and the direction of their tracks 
 proved that they had afterward turned back to Salt Lake 
 City. Had they carried back both of his companions 
 
? 
 
 A STUDY IN SCARLET 101 
 
 with them? Jefferson Hope had almost persuaded him- 
 self that they must have done so, when his eye fell upon 
 an object which made every nerve of his body tingle 
 within him. A little way on one side of the camp was 
 a low-lying heap of reddish soil, which had assuredly 
 not been there before. There was no mistaking it for 
 anything but a newly dug grave. As the young hunter 
 approached it he perceived that a stick had been planted 
 on it, with a sheet of paper stuck in the cleft fork of it. 
 The inscription on the paper was brief, but to the point: 
 
 JOHN FERRIER, 
 FORMERLY OF SALT LAKE CITY 
 Died August 4, 1860. 
 
 The sturdy old man, whom he had left so short a time 
 before, was gone, then, and this was all his epitaph. 
 Jefferson Hope looked wildly round to see if there was a 
 second grave, but there was no sign of one. Lucy had 
 been carried back by their terrible pursuers to fullfil 
 her original destiny, by becoming one of the harem of 
 the elder’s son. As the young fellow realized the cer- 
 tainty of her fate and his own powerlessness to prevent 
 it, he wished that he, too, was lying with the old farmer 
 in his last silent resting-place. 
 
 Again, however, his active spirit shook off the lethargy 
 which springs from despair. If there was nothing else 
 left to him he could at least devote his life to revenge. 
 With indomitable patience and perseverance, Jefferson 
 Hope possessed also a power of sustained vindictiveness 
 which he may have learned from the Indians among 
 whom he had lived. As he stood by the desolate fire he 
 felt that the only one thing which could assuage his grief 
 would be a thorough and complete retribution brought by 
 his own hand upon his enemies. His strong will and un- 
 tiring energy should, he determined, be devoted to that one 
 end. With a grim, white face, he retraced his steps to 
 where he had dropped the food, and, having stirred up 
 the smoldering fire, he cooked enough to last him for a 
 few days. This he made up into a bundle, and, tired as he 
 
102 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 was, he set himself to walk back through the mountains 
 upon the track of the Avenging Angels. 
 
 For five days he toiled, footsore and weary, through 
 the defiles which he had already traversed on horseback. 
 At night he flung himself down among the rocks and 
 snatched a few hours of sleep; but before daybreak 
 he was always well on his way. On the sixth day he 
 reached the Eagle Ravine, from which they had com- 
 menced their ill-fated flight. Thence he could look down 
 upon the home of the Saints. Worn and exhausted, he 
 leaned upon his rifle and shook his gaunt hand fiercely at 
 the silent, widespread city beneath him. As he looked 
 at it he observed that there were flags in some of the 
 principal streets, and other signs of festivity. He was 
 still speculating as to what this might mean when he 
 heard the clatter of a horse’s hoofs and saw-a mounted 
 man riding toward him. As he approached he recognized 
 him as a Mormon named Cowper, to whom he had ren- 
 dered services at different times. He therefore accosted 
 him when he got up to him, with the object of finding 
 out what Lucy Ferrier’s fate had been. 
 
 “T am Jefferson Hope,” he said. “You remember me?” 
 
 The Mormon looked at him with undisguised aston- 
 ishment. Indeed, it was difficult to recognize in this 
 tattered, unkempt wanderer, with ghastly white face and 
 ferce, wild eyes, the spruce young hunter of former days. 
 Having, however, at last satisfied himself as to his iden- 
 tity, the man’s surprise changed to consternation. 
 
 “You are mad to come here,” he cried. “It is as much 
 as my own life is worth to be seen talking with you. 
 There is a warrant against you from the Holy Four for 
 assisting the Ferriers away.” 
 
 “TI don’t fear them or their warrant,’ Hope said, 
 earnestly. “You must know something of this matter, 
 Cowper. I conjure you by everything you hold dear to 
 answer a few questions. We have always been friends. 
 For God’s sake, don’t refuse to answer me.” 
 
 “What is it?” the Mormon asked, uneasily. “Be quick; 
 the very rocks have ears and the trees eyes!” 
 
 “What has become of Lucy Ferrier ?” 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 103 
 
 “She was married yesterday to young Drebber. Hold 
 up, man! hold up! you have no life left in you!” 
 
 “Don’t mind me,” said Hope, faintly. He was white 
 to the very lips, and had sunk down on the stone against 
 which he had been leaning. “Married, you say?” 
 
 “Married yesterday—that’s what those flags are for on 
 the Endowment House. There was some words between 
 young Drebber and young Stangeron a to which was to 
 have her. They’d both been in the party that followed 
 them, and Stangerson had shot her father, which seemed 
 to give him the best claim; but when they argued it out 
 in council Drebber’s party was the stronger, so the 
 prophet gave her over to him. No one won’t have her 
 very long, though, for I saw death in her face yester- 
 day. She is more like a ghost than a woman. Are you 
 off, then?” 
 
 “Yes, I’m off,” said Jefferson Hope, who had risen 
 from his seat. 
 
 His face might have been chiseled out of marble, so 
 hard and so set was its expression, while his eyes glowed 
 with a baleful light. 
 
 “Where are you going?” 
 
 “Never mind,’ he answered; and, slinging his weapon 
 on his shoulder, strode off down the gorge and so away 
 into the heart of the mountains, to the haunts of the 
 wild beasts. Among them all there was none so fierce 
 and so dangerous as himself. 
 
 The prediction of the Mormon was only too well ful- 
 filled. Whether it was the terrible death of her father 
 or the effects of the hateful marriage into which she had 
 been forced, poor Lucy never held up her head again, 
 but pined away and died within a month. Her sottish 
 husband, who had married her principally for the sake of 
 John Ferrier’s property, did not affect any great grief 
 at his bereavement; but his other wives mourned over her, 
 and sat up with her the night before the burial, as is the 
 Mormon custom. They were grouped round the bier in 
 the early hours of the morning, when, to their inex- 
 pressible fear and astonishment, the door was flung open, 
 and a savage-looking, weather-beaten man in tattered 
 
104 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 garments strode into the room. Without a glance or a 
 word to the cowering women he walked up to the white, 
 silent figure which had once contained the pure soul of 
 Lucy Ferrier. Stooping over her, he pressed his lips 
 reverently to her cold forehead, and then, snatching up 
 her hand, he took the wedding-ring from her finger. 
 
 “She shall not be buried in that,” he cried, with a 
 fierce snarl, and before an alarm could be raised sprang 
 down the stairs and was gone. So strange and so brief 
 was the episode that the watchers might have found it 
 hard to believe it themselves or persuade other people 
 of it, had it not been for the undeniable fact that the 
 circlet of gold which marked her as having been a bride 
 had disappeared. | 
 
 For some months Jefferson Hope lingered among the 
 mountains, leading a strange, wild life, and nursing 
 in his heart the fierce desire for vengeance which pos- 
 sessed him. ‘Tales were told in the city of the weird 
 figure which was seen prowling about the suburbs, and 
 which haunted the lonely mountain gorges. Once a bullet 
 whistled through Stangerson’s window and flattened it- 
 self upon the wall within a foot of him. On another occa- 
 sion, as Drebber passed under a cliff, a great bowlder 
 crashed down on him, and he only escaped a terrible 
 death by throwing himself upon his face. The two young 
 Mormons were not long in discovering the reason of 
 these attempts upon their lives, and led repeated expedi- 
 tions into the mountains in the hope of capturing or kill- 
 ing their enemy, but always without success. Then they 
 adopted the precaution of never going out alone or after 
 nightfall, and of having their houses guarded. After a 
 time they were able to relax these measures, for nothing 
 was either heard or seen of their opponent, and they 
 hoped that time had cooled his vindictiveness. , 
 
 Far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it. 
 The hunter’s mind was of a hard, unyielding nature, and 
 the predominant idea of revenge had taken such com- ~ 
 plete possession of it that there was no room for any © 
 other emotion. He was, however, above all things prac- — 
 tical. He soon realized that even his iron constitution — 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 105 
 
 could not stand the incessant strain which he was put- 
 ting upon it. Exposure and want of wholesome food 
 were wearing him out. If he died like a dog among the 
 mountains, what was to become of his revenge then? 
 And yet such a death was sure to overtake him if he per- 
 sisted. He felt that that was to play his enemy’s game, 
 so he reluctantly returned to the old Nevada mines, there 
 to recruit his health, and to amass money enough to allow 
 him to pursue his object without privation. 
 
 His intention had been to be absent a year at the most, 
 but a combination of unforeseen circumstances preyented 
 his leaving the mines for nearly five. At the end of that 
 time, however, his memory of his wrongs and his cray- 
 ings for revenge were quite as keen as on that memorable 
 night when he had stood by John Ferrier’s grave. Dis- 
 guised, and under an assumed name, he returned to Salt 
 Lake City, careless what became of his own life as long as 
 he obtained what he knew to be justice. There he found 
 evil tidings awaited him. There had been a schism 
 among the Chosen People a few months before, some 
 of the younger members of the church having rebelled 
 against the authority of the elders, and the result had 
 been the secession of a certain number of the malcon- 
 tents, who had left Utah and become Gentiles. Among 
 these had been Drebber and Stangerson, and no one knew 
 whither they had gone. Rumor reported that Drebber 
 had managed to convert a large part of his property into 
 money, and that he had departed a wealthy man, while 
 his companion, Stangerson, was comparatively poor. 
 There was no clue at all, however, as to their where- 
 abouts. 
 
 Many a man, however vindictive, would have aban- 
 doned all thought of revenge in the face of such a diffi- 
 culty, but Jefferson Hope never faltered for a moment. 
 With the small competence he possessed, eked out by 
 such employment as he could pick up, he traveled from 
 town to town through the United States in quest of his 
 enemies. Year passed into year, his black hair turned 
 to grizzled, but still he wandered on, a human _ blood- 
 hound, with his mind wholly set upon the one object to 
 
106 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 which he had devoted his life. At last his perseverance 
 was rewarded. It was but a glance of a face in a win- 
 dow, but that one glance told him that Cleveland, in Ohio, 
 possessed the men whom he was in pursuit of. He re- 
 turned to his miserable lodgings with his plan of vengeance 
 all arranged. It chanced, however, that Drebber, looking 
 from his window, had recognized the vagrant in the street, 
 and had read murder in his eyes. He hurried before a 
 justice of the peace, accompanied by Stangerson, who had 
 become his private secretary, and represented to him 
 that they were in danger of their lives from the jealousy 
 and hatred of an old rival. 
 
 That evening Jefferson Hope was taken into custody, 
 and, not being able to find sureties, was detained for 
 some weeks. When at last he was liberated it was only 
 to find that Drebber’s house was deserted, and that he 
 and his secretary had departed for Europe. 
 
 Again the avenger had been foiled, and again his con- 
 centrated hatred urged him to continue the pursuit. 
 Funds were wanting, however, and for some time he 
 had to return to work, saving every dollar for his ap- 
 proaching journey. At last, having collected enough 
 to keep life in him, he departed for Europe, and tracked 
 his enemies from city to city, working his way in any 
 menial capacity, but never overtaking the fugitives. 
 When he reached St. Petersburg they had departed for 
 Paris; and when he followed them there he learned that 
 they had just set off for Copenhagen. At the Danish 
 capital he was again a few days late, for they had jour- 
 neyed on to London, where he at last succeeded in running 
 them to earth. As to what occurred there, we cannot do 
 better than quote the old hunter’s own account, as duly 
 recorded in Dr. Watson’s journal, to which we are al- 
 ready under such obligations. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 107 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A CONTINUATION OF THE REMINISCENCES OF JOHN H. 
 WATSON, M. D. 
 
 Our prisoner’s furious resistance did not apparently 
 indicate any ferocity in his disposition toward ourselves, 
 for, on finding himself powerless, he smiled in an affable 
 manner, and expressed his hopes that he had not hurt 
 any of us in the scuffle. 
 
 “I guess you’re going to take me to the police sta- 
 tion,” he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. ‘My cab’s at 
 the door; if you'll loose my legs I’ll walk down to it. 
 I’m not so light to lift as I used to be.” 
 
 Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if they 
 thought this proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes 
 at once took the prisoner at his word, and loosened the 
 towel which he had bound round his ankles. He rose 
 and stretched his legs, as though to assure himself that 
 they were free once more. I remember that I thought 
 to myself, as I eyed him, that I had seldom seen a more 
 powerfully built man; and his dark, sunburned face 
 bore an expression of determination and energy which 
 was as formidable as his personal strength. 
 
 “Tf there’s a vacant place for a chief of the police, I 
 reckon you are the man for it,” he said, gazing with 
 undisguised admiration at my fellow-lodger. “The way 
 you kept on my trail was a caution.” 
 
 “You had better come with me,” said Holmes to the 
 two detectives. 
 
 “TI can drive you,’ said Lestrade. 
 
 “Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You 
 too, doctor; you have taken an interest in the case, and 
 may as well stick to us.” 
 
 I assented gladly, and we all descended together. Our 
 prisoner made no attempt at escape, but stepped calmly 
 into the cab which had been his, and we followed him. 
 Lestrade mounted the box, whipped up the horse, and 
 brought us in a very short time to our destination. We 
 
108 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 were ushered into a small chamber, where a police in- 
 spector noted down our prisoner’s name and the names of 
 the men with whose murder he had been charged. The 
 official was a white-faced, unemotional man, who went 
 through his duties in a dull, mechanical way. “The pris- 
 oner will be put before the magistrates in the course of the 
 week,” he said; “in the meantime, Mr. Jefferson Hope, 
 have you anything that you wish to say? I must warn 
 you that your words will be taken down and may be used 
 against you.” 
 
 “T’ve a good deal to say,” our prisoner said, slowly. 
 “T want to tell you gentlemen all about it.” 
 
 “Hadn’t you better reserve that for your trial?” asked 
 the inspector. 3 
 
 “T may never be tried,” he answered. “You needn’t 
 look startled. It isn’t suicide I am porns of. Are 
 you a doctor?” 
 
 He turned his fierce, dark eyes upon me as he asked 
 this last question. 
 
 “Yes, I am,” I answered. 
 
 “Then put your hand here,’ he said, with a smile, 
 motioning with his manacled wrists toward his chest. 
 
 I did so, and became at once conscious of an extraor- 
 dinary throbbing and commotion which was going on in- > 
 side. The walls of his chest seemed to thrill and quiver 
 as a frail building would do inside when some powerful 
 engine was at work. In the silence of the room I could 
 hear a dull hummmg and buzzing noise which proceeded 
 from the same source. 
 
 “Why,” I cried, “you have aortic aneurism!” 
 
 “That’s what they call it,’ he said, placidly. “I went 
 to a doctor last week about it, and he told me that it was 
 bound to burst before many days passed. It has been 
 getting worse for years. I got it from over-exposure and 
 underfeeding among the Salt Lake mountains. Tve done 
 my work now, and I don’t care how soon I go, but I 
 should like to leave some account of the business behind 
 me. I don’t want to be remembered as a common cut- 
 throat.” 
 
 The inspector and the two detectives had a hurried 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 109 
 
 discussion as to the advisability of allowing him to tell 
 his story. 
 
 “Do you consider, doctor, that there is immediate dan- 
 ger?’ the former asked. 
 
 “Most certainly there is,’ I answered. 
 
 “In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests of 
 justice, to take his statements,” said the inspector. “You 
 are at liberty, sir, to give your account, which I again 
 warn you will be taken down.” 
 
 “T’ll sit down, with your leave,” the prisoner said, suit- 
 ing the action to the word. “This aneurism of mine makes 
 me easily tired, and the tussle we had half an hour ago 
 has not mended matters. I’m on the brink of the grave, 
 and I am not likely to lie to you. Every word I say is 
 the absolute truth, and how you use it is a matter of no 
 consequence to me.” 
 
 With these words Jefferson Hope leaned back in his 
 chair and began the following remarkable statement. He 
 spoke in a calm and methodical manner, as though the 
 events which he narrated were commonplace enough. I 
 can vouch for the accuracy of the subjoined account, for I 
 have had access to Lestrade’s note book, in which the 
 prisoner’s words were taken down exactly as they were 
 uttered. 
 
 “It doesn’t matter much to you why I hated these men,” 
 he said; “it’s enough that they were guilty of the death of 
 two human beings—a father and a daughter—and they 
 had, therefore, forfeited their own lives. After the lapse 
 of time that has passed since their crime, it was impossible 
 for me to secure a conviction against them in any court. 
 I knew of their guilt, though, and I determined that I 
 should be judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into 
 one. You'd have done the same, if you have any man- 
 hood in you, if you had been in my place. 
 
 “That girl that I spoke of was to have married me 
 twenty years ago. She was forced into marrying that 
 same Drebber, and broke her heart over it. I took the 
 marriage ring from her dead finger, and I vowed that 
 his dying eyes should rest upon that very ring, and that 
 his last thought should be of the crime for which he was 
 
110 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 punished. I have carried it about with me, and have fol- 
 lowed him and his accomplice over two continents until 
 I caught them. They thought to tire me out, but they 
 could not do it. If I die to-morrow, as is likely enough, 
 I die knowing that my work in this world is done, and 
 well done. They have perished, and by my hand. There 
 is nothing left for me to hope for or to desire. 
 
 “They were rich and I was poor, so that it was no easy 
 matter for me to follow them. When I got to London 
 my pocket was about empty, and I found that I must turn 
 my hand to something for my living. Driving and riding 
 are as natural to me as walking, so I applied at a cab 
 owner’s office and soon got employment. I was to bring 
 a certain sum a week to the owner, and whatever was over 
 that 1 might keep for myself. There was seldom much 
 over, but I managed to scrape along somehow. The 
 hardest job was to learn my way about, for I reckon 
 that of all the mazes that were ever contrived, this city — 
 is the most confusing. J had a map beside me, though, 
 and when once I had spotted the principal hotels and 
 stations I got on pretty well. 
 
 “It was some time before I found out where my two 
 gentlemen were living; but I inquired and inquired until 
 at last I dropped across them. They were at a board- 
 ing house at Camberwell, over on the other side of the’ 
 river. When once I found them out I knew that I had 
 them at my mercy. I had grown my beard, and there 
 was no chance of their recognizing me. I would dog them 
 and follow them until I saw my opportunity. I was 
 determined that they should not escape me again. 
 
 “They were very near doing it, for all that. Go where 
 they would about London, I was always at their heels. 
 Sometimes I followed them on my cab, and sometimes 
 on foot, but the former was the best, for then they could 
 not get away from me. It was only early in the morn- 
 ing or late at night that I could earn anything, so that 
 I began to get behindhand with my employer. I did not 
 mind that, however, as long as I could lay my hand upon © 
 the men I wanted. | 
 
 “They were very cunning, though. They must have — 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET il 
 
 thought that there was some chance of their being fol- 
 lowed, for they would never go out alone, and never 
 after nightfall. During two weeks I drove behind them 
 every day, and never once saw them separate. Drebber 
 himself was drunk half the time, but Stangerson was 
 not to be caught napping. I watched them late and 
 early, but never saw the ghost of a chance; but I was 
 not discouraged, for something told me that the hour 
 had almost come. My only fear was that this thing in 
 my chest might burst a little too soon and leave my work 
 undone. 
 
 “At last, one evening, I was driving up and down 
 Torquay Terrace, as the street was called in which they 
 boarded, when I saw a cab drive up to their door. Pres- 
 ently some luggage was brought out, and after a time 
 Drebber and Stangerson followed it and drove off. J 
 whipped up my horse and kept within sight of them, 
 feeling ill at ease, for I feared that they were going to 
 shift their quarters. At Euston Station they got out, and 
 I left a boy to hold my horse and followed them on to 
 the platform. I heard them ask for the Liverpool train, 
 and the guard answer that one had just gone, and there 
 would not be another for some hours. Stangerson 
 seemed to be put out at that, but Drebber was rather 
 pleased than otherwise. I got so close to them in the 
 bustle that I could hear every word that passed between 
 them. Drebber said that he had a little business of his 
 own to do, and that if the other would wait for him he 
 would soon rejoin him. His companion remonstrated with 
 him, and reminded him that they had resolved to stick 
 together. Drebber answered that the matter was a deli- 
 cate one, and that he must go alone. I could not catch 
 what Stangerson said to that, but the other burst out 
 swearing and reminded him that he was nothing more 
 than his paid servant, and that he must not presume to 
 dictate to him. On that the secretary gave it up as a 
 bad job, and simply bargained with him that if he missed 
 the last train he should rejoin him at Halliday’s Private 
 Hotel; to which Drebber answered that he would be back 
 
112 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 on the platform. before eleven, and made his way out of 
 the station. ; 
 
 “The moment for which I had waited so long had at last 
 come. I had my enemies within my power. Together 
 they could protect each other, but singly they were at my 
 mercy. I did not act, however, with undue precipitation. 
 ‘My plans were already formed. There is no satisfaction 
 in vengeance unless the offender has time to realize who 
 it is that strikes him, and why retribution had come upon 
 him. I had my plans arranged by which I should have the 
 opportunity of making the man who wronged me under- 
 stand that his old sin had found him out. It chanced 
 that some days before a gentleman who had been engaged 
 in looking over some houses in the Brixton Road had 
 dropped the key of one of them in my carriage. It 
 was claimed that same evening and returned; but in the 
 interval I had taken a molding of it, and had a dupli- 
 cate constructed. By means of this I had access to at 
 least one spot in this great city where I could rely upon 
 being free from interruption. How to get Drebber to 
 that house was the difficult problem which I now had 
 to solve. | 
 
 “He walked down the road and went into one or two 
 liquor shops, staying for nearly half an hour in the last 
 of them. When he’ came out he staggered in his walk, 
 and was evidently pretty well on. There was a hansom 
 just in front of me, and he hailed it. I followed it so 
 close that the nose of my horse was within a yard of 
 his driver the whole way. We rattled across Waterloo 
 Bridge and through miles of streets, until, to my aston- 
 ishment, we found ourselves back in the terrace in which 
 he had boarded. I could not imagine what his inten- 
 tion was in returning there, but I went on and pulled up — 
 my cab a hundred yards or so from the house. He en- 
 tered it and his hansom drove away. Give me a glass of 
 water, if you please. My mouth gets dry with the talk- 
 ing.” 
 
 I handed him the glass, and he drank it down. 
 
 “That’s better,” he said. “Well, I waited for a quarter 
 of an hour or more, when suddenly there came a noise 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 113 
 
 like people struggling inside the house. Next moment 
 the door was flung open and two men appeared, one of 
 whom was Drebber, and the other was a young chap 
 whom I had never seen before. This fellow had Drebber 
 by the collar, and when they came to the head of the steps 
 he gave him a shove and a kick which sent him half 
 across the road. ‘You hound!’ he cried, shaking his stick 
 at him, ‘I’ll teach you to insult an honest girl!’ He was 
 so hot that I think he would have thrashed Drebber with 
 his cudgel only that the cur staggered away down the road 
 as fast as his legs would carry him. He ran as far as the 
 corner, and then, seeing my cab, he hailed me and jumped 
 in. ‘Drive me to Halliday’s Private Hotel,’ said he. 
 
 “When I had him fairly inside my cab my heart jumped 
 so with joy that I feared lest at this last moment my 
 aneurism might go wrong. I drove along slowly, weigh- 
 ing in my own mind what it was best to do. I might take 
 him right out into the country, and there in some deserted 
 lane have my last interview with him. I had almost de- 
 cided upon this, when he solved the problem for me. The 
 craze for drink had seized him again, and he ordered me 
 to pull up outside a gin palace. He went in, leaving word 
 that I should wait for him. There he remained until 
 closing time, and when he came out he was so far gone 
 that I knew the game was in my own hands. 
 
 “Don’t imagine that I intended to kill him in cold blood. 
 It would only have been rigid justice if I had done so, but 
 I could not bring myself to do it. I had long determined 
 that he should have a show for his life if he chose to take 
 advantage of it. Among the many billets which I have 
 filled in America during my wandering life, I was once 
 a janitor and sweeper-out of the laboratory at York 
 College. One day the professor was lecturing on poisons, 
 and he showed his students some alkaloid, as he called it, 
 which he had extracted from some South American 
 arrow poison, and which was so powerful that the least 
 grain meant instant death. I spotted the bottle in which 
 this preparation was kept, and when they were all gone 
 I helped myself to a little of it. I was a fairly good dis- 
 penser, so I worked this alkaloid into small, soluble pills, 
 
114 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 and each pill I put in a box with a similar pill made with- 
 out poison. I determined at the time that, when I had 
 my chance, my gentlemen should each have a draw out of 
 one of these boxes, while I eat the pill that remained. 
 It would be quite as deadly, and a good deal less noisy 
 than firing across a handkerchief. From that day I had 
 always my pill boxes about with me, and the time had 
 now come when I was to use them. 
 
 “It was nearer one than twelve, and a wild, bleak 
 night, blowing hard and raining in torrents. Dismal 
 as it was outside, I was glad within—so glad that I could 
 have shouted out from pure exultation. If any of you 
 gentlemen have ever pined for a thing and longed for it 
 during twenty long years, and then suddenly found it 
 within your reach, you would understand my feelings. 
 I lighted a cigar and puffed at it to steady my nerves, but 
 my hands were trembling, and my temples throbbing with 
 excitement. As I drove I could see old John Ferrier and 
 sweet Lucy looking at me out of the darkness and smiling 
 at me, just as plain as I see you all in this room. All the 
 way they were ahead of me, one on each side of the horse, 
 until I pulled up at the house in the Brixton Road. 
 
 “There was not a soul to be seen, nor a sound to be 
 heard, except the dripping of the rain. When I looked 
 in at the window I found Drebber all huddled together 
 in a drunken sleep. I shook him by the arm: ‘It’s time to 
 go out,’ I said. 
 
 ““All right, cabby,’ said he. 
 
 “T suppose he thought we had come to the hotel that 
 he had mentioned, for he got out without another word 
 and followed me down the garden. I had to walk be- 
 side him to keep him steady, for he was still a little top- 
 heavy. When we came to the door I opened it and led 
 him into the front room. I give you my word that, all 
 the way, the father and daughter were walking in front 
 of us. 
 
 “It's infernally dark,’ said he, stamping about. 
 
 “*We'll soon have a light,’ I said, striking a match 
 and putting it to a wax candle which I had brought with 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 115 
 
 me. “Now, Enoch Drebber,’ I continued, turning to him 
 and holding the light to my own face, ‘Who am I?” 
 
 “He gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes for a 
 moment, and then I saw a horror spring up in them and 
 convulse his whole features, which showed me that he 
 knew me. He staggered back with a livid face, and I 
 saw the perspiration break out upon his brow, while his 
 teeth chattered. At the sight I leaned my back against 
 the door and laughed loud and long. I had always known 
 that vengeance would be sweet, but had never hoped for 
 the contentment of soul which now possessed me. 
 
 “*You dog!’ I said, ‘I have hunted you from Salt Lake 
 City to St. Petersburg, and you have always escaped me. 
 Now at last your wanderings have come to an end, for 
 either you or I shall never see to-morrow’s sun rise.’ 
 He shrunk still further away as I spoke, and I could see 
 on his face that he thought I was mad. So I was, for 
 the time. The pulses in my temples beat like sledge- 
 hammers, and I believe I would have had a fit of some 
 sort if the blood had not gushed from my nose and re- 
 lieved me. 
 
 ““What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now? I cried, 
 locking the door and shaking the key in his face. ‘Punish- 
 ment has been slow in coming, but it has overtaken you 
 at last.’ I saw his coward lips tremble as I spoke. He 
 would have begged for his life, but he knew well that 
 it was useless. 
 
 “Would you murder me?’ he stammered. 
 
 “*There is no murder,’ I answered. ‘Who talks of 
 murdering a mad dog? What mercy had you upon my 
 poor darling when you dragged her from her slaughtered 
 father and bore her away *to your accursed and shame- 
 less harem?’ 
 
 “Tt was not I who killed her father,’ he cried. 
 
 ““But it was you who broke her innocent heart,’ I 
 shrieked, thrusting the box before him. ‘Let the high 
 God judge between us. Choose and eat. There is death 
 in one and life in the other. I shall take what you leave. 
 Let us see if there is justice upon the earth, or if we 
 are ruled by chance.’ 
 
116 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “He cowered away with wild cries and prayers for 
 mercy, but I drew my knife and held it to his throat 
 until he had obeyed me. Then I swallowed the other, 
 and we stood facing each other in silence for a minute 
 or more, waiting to see which was to live and which 
 was to die. Shall I ever forget the look which came 
 over his face when the first warning pangs told him 
 that the poison was in his system? I laughed as I saw 
 it, and held Lucy’s marriage-ring in front of his eyes. 
 It was but for a moment, for the action of the alkaloid 
 is rapid. A spasm of pain contorted his features; he 
 threw his hands out in front of him, staggered, and then, 
 with a hoarse cry, fell heavily upon the floor. I turned 
 him over with my foot and placed. my hand upon his 
 heart. There was no movement. He was dead! 
 
 “The blood had been streaming from my nose, but I 
 had taken no notice of it. I don’t know what it was 
 that put it into my head to write upon the wall with it. 
 Perhaps it was some mischievous idea of setting the police 
 upon a wrong track, for I felt light-hearted and cheerful. 
 I remembered a German being found in New York with 
 “Rache’ written up above him, and it was argued at the 
 time in the newspapers that the secret societies must have 
 done it. I guessed that what puzzled the New Yorkers 
 would puzzle the Londoners, so I dipped my finger in 
 my own blood and printed it on a convenient place on 
 the wall. Then I walked down to my cab and found that 
 there was nobody about, and that the night was still very 
 wild. I had driven some distance, when I put my hand 
 into the pocket in which I usually kept Lucy’s ring, and 
 found that it was not there. I was thunder-struck at 
 this, for it was the only memento that I had of her. 
 Thinking that I might have dropped it when I stooped 
 overt Drebber’s body, I drove back, and leaving my cab 
 in a side street, I went boldly up to the house—for I 
 was ready to dare anything rather than lose the ring. 
 When I arrived there I walked right into the arms of a 
 police officer who was coming out, and only managed 
 sing his suspicions by pretending to be hopelessly 
 drunk. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 117 
 
 “That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end. All 
 I had to do then was to do as much for Stangerson, 
 and so pay off John Ferrier’s debt. I knew that he was 
 staying at Halliday’s Private Hotel, and I hung about 
 all day, but he never came out. I fancy that he suspected 
 something when Drebber failed to put in an appearance. 
 He was cunning, was Stangerson, and always on his 
 guard. If he thought he could keep me off by staying 
 in-doors he was very much mistaken. I soon found out 
 which was the window of his bed-room, and early next 
 morning I took advantage of some ladders which were 
 lying in the lane behind the hotel, and so made my way 
 into his room in the gray of the dawn. I woke him up, 
 and told him that the hour had come when he was to 
 answer for the life he had taken so long before. I de- 
 scribed Drebber’s death to him, and I gave him the same 
 choice of the poisoned pills. Instead of grasping at the 
 chance of safety which that offered him, he sprang from 
 his bed and flew at my throat. In self-defence I stabbed 
 him to the heart. It would have been the same in any 
 case, for Providence would never have allowed his guilty 
 hand to pick out anything but the poison. 
 
 “T have little more to say, and it’s as well, for I am 
 about done up. I went on cabbing it for a day or so, 
 intending to keep at it until I could save enough to take 
 me back to America. I was standing in the yard when 
 a ragged youngster asked if there was a cabby there 
 called Jefferson Hope, and said that his cab was wanted 
 by a gentleman at 221B Baker Street. I went round, 
 suspecting no harm, and the next thing I knew this 
 young man here had the bracelts on my wrists, and as 
 neatly shackled as ever I was in my life. That’s the 
 whole of my story, gentlemen. You may consider me 
 to be a murderer, but I hold that I am just as much an 
 officer of justice as you are.” 
 
 So thrilling had the man’s narrative been, and his 
 manner was so impressive, that we had sat silent and 
 absorbed. Even the professional detectives, blase as 
 they were in every detail of crime, appeared to be keenly 
 interested in the man’s story. When he finished we sat 
 
118 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 for some minutes in a stillness which was only broken 
 by the scratching of Lestrade’s pencil as he gave the 
 finishing touches to his short-hand account. 
 
 “There is only one point on which I should like a lit- 
 tle more information,’”? Sherlock Holmes said at last. 
 “Who was your accomplice who came for the ring which 
 I advertised ?” 
 
 The prisoner winked at my friend jocosely. 
 
 “IT can tell my own secrets,’ he said, “but I don’t get 
 other people into trouble. I saw your advertisement, 
 and I thought it might be a plant, or it might be the ring 
 I wanted. My friend volunteered to go and see. I think 
 you'll own he did‘it smartly.” 
 
 “Not a doubt of that,” said- Holmes, heartily. 
 
 “Now, gentlemen,” the inspector remarked, gravely, 
 “the forms of the law must be complied with. On 
 Thursday the prisoner will be brought before the mag- 
 istrates, and your attendance will be required. Until 
 then I will be responsible for him.” 
 
 He rang the bell as he spoke, and Jefferson Hope was 
 led off by a couple of warders, while my friend and I 
 made our way out of the station and took a cab back 
 to Baker Street. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 THE CONCLUSION 
 
 WE had all been warned to appear before the mag- 
 istrates upon the Thursday; but when the Thursday came 
 there was no occasion for our testimony. A _ higher 
 Judge had taken the matter in hand, and Jefferson Hope 
 had been summoned before a tribunal where strict justice 
 would be meted out to him. On the very night after his 
 capture the aneurism burst, and he was found in the 
 morning stretched upon the floor of his cell, with a placid 
 smile upon his face, as though he had been able in his 
 dying moments to look back upon a useful life and on 
 work well done. 
 
 “Gregson and Lestrade will be wild about his death,” 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 119 
 
 Holmes remarked, as we chatted over it next evening. 
 “Where will their grand advertisement be now?” 
 
 “I don’t see that they had very much to do with his 
 capture,” I answered. 
 
 “What you do in this world is a matter of no con- 
 sequence,” returned my companion, bitterly. “The ques- 
 tion is, what can you make people believe that you have 
 done. Never mind,” he continued, more brightly, after 
 a pause, “I would not have missed the investigation for 
 anything. There has been no better case within my 
 recollection. Simple as it was, there were several most 
 instructive points about it.” 
 
 “Simple!” I ejaculated. 
 
 “Well, really, it can hardly be described as otherwise,” 
 said Sherlock Holmes, smiling at my surprise. “The 
 proof of its intrinsic simplicity is that without any help, 
 save a few very ordinary deductions, I was able to lay my 
 hand upon the criminal within three days.” 
 
 “That is true,” said I. 
 
 “T have already explained to you that what is out of 
 the common is usually a guide rather than a hindrance. 
 In solving a problem of this sort, the grand thing is to 
 reason backward. That is a very useful accomplishment 
 and a very easy one, but people do not practise it much. 
 In the every-day affairs of life it is more useful to reason 
 forward, and so the other comes to be neglected. There 
 are fifty who can reason synthetically for one who can 
 reason analytically.” 
 
 “T confess,” said I, “that I do not quite follow you.” 
 
 “T hardly expected that you would. Let me see if 
 I can make it clear. Most people, if you describe a train 
 of events to them, will tell you what the result would be. 
 They can put those events together in their minds, and 
 argue from them that something will come to pass. There 
 are few people, however, who, if you told them a result, 
 would be able to evolve from their own inner conscious- 
 ness what the steps were which led up to that result. 
 This power is what I mean when I talk of reasoning back- 
 ward, or analytically.” 
 
 “1 understand,” said I. 
 
120 A STUDY IN SCARLET bat 
 | 
 
 “Now, this was a case in which you were given the 
 result, and had to end everything else for yourself. Now, 
 let me endeavor to show you the different steps in my 
 reasoning. To begin at the beginning. I approached 
 the house, as you know, on foot, and with my mind 
 entirely free from all impressions. I naturally began by 
 examining the roadway, and there, as I have already ex- 
 plained to you, I saw clearly the marks of a cab, which, 
 I ascertained by inquiry, must have been there during 
 the night. I satisfied myself that it was a cab, and not 
 a private carriage, by the narrow gauge of the wheels. 
 The ordinary London growler is considerably less wide 
 than a gentleman’s brougham. 
 
 “This was the first point gained. I then walked slowly 
 down the garden path, which happened to be composed 
 of a clay soil, peculiarly suitable for taking impressions. 
 No doubt it appeared to you to be a mere trampled line 
 of slush, but to my trained eyes every mark upon its sur- 
 face had a meaning. There is no branch of detective 
 science which is so important and so much neglected as 
 the art of tracing footsteps. Happily, I have always laid 
 great stress upon it, and much practice has made it 
 second nature to me. I saw the heavy foot-marks of the 
 constables, but I saw also the tracks of the two men who 
 had first passed through the garden. It was easy to tell 
 that they had been before the others, because in places 
 their marks had been entirely obliterated by the others 
 coming upon the top of them. In this way my second 
 link was formed, which told me that the nocturnal visitors 
 were two in number, one remarkable for his height 
 (as I calculated from the length of his stride), and the 
 other fashionably dressed, to judge from the small and 
 elegant impression left by his boots. 
 
 “On entering the house this last inference was con- 
 firmed. My well-booted man lay before me. The tall 
 one, then, had done the murder, if murder there was. 
 There was no wound upon the dead man’s person, but 
 the agitated expression upon his face assured me that he © 
 had foreseen his fate before it came upon him. Men 
 who die from heart disease or any sudden natural cause 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 121 
 
 never by any chance exhibit agitation upon their features. 
 Having sniffed the dead man’s lips, I detected a slightly 
 sour smell, and I came to the conclusion that he had had 
 poison forced upon him. Again, I argued that it had 
 been forced upon him from the hatred and fear expressed 
 upon his face. By the method of exclusion I had arrived 
 at this result, for no other hypothesis would meet the 
 facts. Do not imagine that it was a very unheard-of idea. 
 The forcible administration of poison is by no means a 
 new thing in criminal annals. The cases of Dolsky, in 
 Odessa, and of Leturier, in Montpellier, will occur at 
 once to any toxicologist. 
 
 “And now came the great question as to the reason 
 why. Robbery had not been the object of the murder, 
 for nothing was taken. Was it politics, then, or was it a 
 woman? That was the question which confronted me. 
 I was inclined from the first to the latter supposition. 
 Political assassins are only too glad to do their work 
 and to fly. This murder had, on the contrary, been done 
 most deliberately, and the perpetrator had left his tracks 
 all over the room, showing that he had been there all the 
 time. It must have been a private wrong, and not a 
 political one, which called for such a methodical revenge. 
 When the inscription was discovered upon the wall I was 
 more inclined than ever to my opinion. The thing was 
 too evidently a blind. When the ring was found, how- 
 ever, it settled the question. Clearly the murderer had 
 used it to remind his victim of some dead or absent 
 woman. It was at this point that I asked Gregson 
 whether he had inquired in his telegram to Cleveland 
 as to any particular point in Mr. Drebber’s former career. 
 He answered, you remember, in the negative. 
 
 “I then proceeded to make a careful examination of 
 the room, which confirmed me in my opinion as to the 
 murderer’s height, and furnished me with the additional 
 detail as to the Trichinopoly cigar and the length of his 
 nails. I had already come to the conclusion, since there 
 were no signs of a struggle, that the blood which covered 
 the floor had burst from the murderer’s nose in his ex- 
 citement. I could perceive that the track of blood coin- 
 
122 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 cided with the track of his feet. It is seldom that any 
 man, unless he is very full-blooded, breaks out in this 
 way through emotion, so I hazarded the opinion that the 
 criminal was probably a robust and ruddy-faced man, 
 Events proved that I had judged correctly. 
 
 “Having left the house, I proceeded to do what Greg- 
 son had neglected. I telegraphed to the head of the 
 police at Cleveland, limiting my inquiry to the circum- 
 stances connected with the marriage of Enoch Drebber. 
 The answer was conclusive. It told me that Drebber 
 had already applied for the protection of the law against 
 an old rival in love,znamed Jefferson Hope, and that this 
 same Hope was at present in Europe. I knew now that I 
 held the clue to the mystery in my hand, and all that 
 remained was to secure the murderer. 
 
 “TI had already determined in my own mind that the 
 man who had walked into the house with Drebber was 
 none other than the man who had driven the cab. The 
 marks in the road showed me that the horse had wan- 
 dered on in a way which would have been impossible 
 had there been any one in charge of it. Where, then, 
 could the driver be, unless he were inside the house? 
 Again, it is absurd to suppose that any man would carry 
 out a deliberate crime under the very eyes, as it were, 
 of a third person, who was sure to betray him. Lastly, 
 supposing one man wished to dog another through Lon- 
 don, what better means could he adopt than to turn cab 
 driver? All these considerations led me to the irresistible 
 conclusion that Jefferson Hope was to be found among 
 the jarveys of the metropolis. 
 
 “If he had been one there was no reason to believe that 
 he had ceased to be. On the contrary, from his point 
 of view, any sudden change would be likely to draw at- 
 tention to himself. He would probably, for a time at 
 least, continue to perform his duties. There was no 
 reason to suppose that he was going under an assumed 
 name. Why should he change his name in a country | 
 where no one knew his original one? I therefore organ- 
 ized my street-arab detective corps, and sent them syste- 
 matically to every cab proprietor in London until they — 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 123 
 
 ferreted out the man that I wanted. How well they 
 succeeded, and how quickly I took advantage of it, are 
 still fresh in your recollection. The murder of Stanger- 
 son was an incident which was entirely unexpected, but 
 which could hardly in any case have been prevented. 
 Through it, as you know, I came into possession of the 
 pills, the existence of which I had already surmised. 
 You see, the whole thing is a chain of logical sequences 
 without a break or flaw.” 
 
 “It is wonderful!” I cried. “Your merits should be 
 publicly recognized. You should publish an account of 
 the case. If you won’t, I will for you.” 
 
 “You may do what you like, doctor,” he answered. 
 “See here!” he continued, handing a paper over to me; 
 “Took at this!” 
 
 It was the “Echo” for the day, and the paragraph to 
 which he pointed was devoted to the case in question. 
 
 “The public,’ it said, “have lost a sensational treat 
 through the sudden death of the man Hope, who was 
 suspected of the murder of Mr. Enoch Drebber and of 
 Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The details of the case will 
 probably never be known now, though we are informed 
 upon good authority that the crime was the result of 
 an old-standing and romantic feud, in which love and 
 Mormonism bore a part. It seems that both the victims 
 belonged, in their younger days, to the Latter-Day 
 Saints, and Hope, the deceased prisoner, hails also from 
 Salt Lake City. If the case has had no other effect, it 
 at least brings out in the most striking manner the effici- 
 ency of our detective police force, and will serve as a 
 lesson to all foreigners that they will do wisely to settle 
 their feuds at home, and not to carry them on to British 
 soil. It is an open secret that the credit of this smart 
 capture belongs entirely to the well-known Scotland Yard 
 Officials, Messrs. Lestrade and Gregson. The man was 
 apprehended, it appears, in the rooms of a certain Mr. 
 Sherlock Holmes, who has himself, as an amateur, shown 
 'some talent in the detective line, and who, with such 
 ‘instructors, may hope in time to attain to some degree 
 of their skill. It is expected that a testimonial of some 
 ‘ ! 
 
124 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 sort will be presented to the two officers as a fitting rec- 
 ognition of their services.” 
 
 ‘“Didn’t I tell you so when we started?” cried Sher- 
 lock Holmes, with a laugh. ‘“That’s the result of all our 
 Study in Scarlet—to get them a testimonial.” 
 
 “Never mind,” I answered; “I have all the facts in 
 my journal, and the public shall know them, In the 
 meantime you must make yourself contented by the con- 
 ciousness of success, like the Roman miser— 
 
 “Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo ‘ 
 Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplar in arca.’ ” 
 
 THE CAPTAIN OF THE “POLE-STAR” 
 
 BEING AN EXTRACT FROM THE SINGULAR JOURNAL OB 
 JOHN M’ALISTER RAY, STUDENT OF MEDICINE 
 
 SEPTEMBER 11.—Lat. 81° 40’ N.; long. 2° E. Still 
 lying-to amid enormous ice fields. The one which 
 stretches away to the north of us, and to which our ice- 
 anchor is attached, cannot be smaller than an English 
 county. To the right and left unbroken sheets extend 
 to the horizon. This morning the mate reported that 
 there were signs of pack ice to the southward. Should 
 this form of sufficient thickness to bar our return, we 
 shall be in a position of danger, as the food, I hear, is 
 already running somewhat short. It is late in the sea- 
 son, and the nights are beginning to reappear. This 
 morning I saw a star twinkling just over the foreyard, 
 the first since the beginning of May. There is consid- 
 erable discontent among the crew, many of whom are 
 anxious to get back home to be in time for the herring 
 season, when labor always commands a high price upon 
 the Scotch coast. As yet their displeasure is only signi- 
 fied by sullen countenances and black looks, but I heard. 
 from the second mate this afternoon that they contem- 
 plated sending a deputation to the captain to explain their 
 grievance. I much doubt how he will receive it, as he 
 is a man of fierce temper, and very sensitive about any- 
 thing approaching to an infringement of his rights. I 
 shall venture after dinner to say a few words to him 
 
 ij 
 i 
 vi 
 Ay >, 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 125 
 
 upon the subject. I have always found that he will tol- 
 erate from me what he would resent from any other 
 member of the crew. Amsterdam Island, at the north- 
 west corner of Spitzbergen, is visible upon our starboard 
 quarter—a rugged line of volcanic rocks, intersected by 
 white seams, which represent glaciers. It is curious to 
 think that at the present moment there is probably no 
 human being nearer to us than the Danish settlements 
 in the south of Greenland—a good nine hundred miles 
 as the crow flies. A captain takes a great responsibility 
 upon himself when he risks his vessel under such circum- 
 stances. No whaler has ever remained in these latitudes 
 till so advanced a period of the year. 
 
 9 P. M.—I have spoken to Captain Craigie, and though 
 the result has been hardly satisfactory, 1 am bound to say 
 that he listened to what I had to say very quietly, and 
 even deferentially. When I had finished he put on that 
 air of iron determination which I have frequently ob- 
 served upon his face, and paced rapidly backward and 
 forward across the narrow cabin for some minutes. At 
 first I feared that I had seriously offended him, but he 
 dispelled the idea by sitting down again and putting his 
 hand upon my arm with a gesture which almost amounted 
 to acaress. There was a depth of tenderness, too, in his 
 wild, dark eyes, which surprised me considerably. “Look 
 here, doctor,” he said, “I’m sorry I ever took you—I am, 
 indeed—and I would give fifty pounds this minute to see 
 you standing safe upon the Dundee quay. It’s hit or 
 miss with me this time. There are fish to the north of 
 us. How dare you shake your head, sir, when I tell you 
 I saw them blowing from the masthead ?”—this in a sud- 
 den burst of fury, though I was not conscious of having 
 shown any signs of doubt. “T'wo-and-twenty fish in as 
 many minutes, as I am a living man, and not one under 
 ten feet.* Now, doctor, do you think I can leave the 
 country when there is only one infernal strip of ice be- 
 tween me and my fortune? If it came on to blow from 
 the north to-morrow we could fill the ship and be away 
 
 * A whale is measured among whalers not by the length of its 
 body, but by the length of its whalebone. 
 
126 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 before the frost could catch us. If it came on to blow | 
 from the south—well, I suppose the men are paid for 
 risking their lives, and as for myself, it matters but little 
 to me, for I have more to bind me to the other world | 
 than to this one. I confess that I am sorry for you, 
 though. I wish I had old Angus Tait, who was with me 
 last voyage, for he was a man that would never be missed, 
 and you—you said once that you were engaged, did you 
 not ?” 
 
 “Yes,” I answered, snapping the spring of the locket 
 which hung from my watch chain, and holding up the 
 little vignette of Flora. : 
 
 “Curse you!” he yelled, springing out of his seat, with 
 his very beard bristling with passion. “What is your 
 happiness to me? What have I to do with her that you 
 must dangle her photograph before my eyes?’ I almost 
 thought that he was about to strike me in the frenzy of 
 his rage, but with another imprecation he dashed open 
 the door of the cabin and rushed out upon deck, leaving 
 me considerably astonished at his extraordinary violence. 
 It is the first time that he has ever shown me anything 
 but courtesy and kindness. I can hear him pacing ex- 
 citedly up and down overhead as I write these lines. 
 
 I should like to give a sketch of the character of this 
 man, but it seems presumptuous to attempt such a thing 
 upon paper, when the idea in my own mind is at best 
 a vague and uncertain one. Several times I have thought 
 that I grasped the clew which might explain it, but only 
 to be disappointed by his presenting himself in some new 
 light which would upset all my conclusions. It may be 
 that no human eye but my own shall ever rest upon these 
 lines, yet as a psychological study I shall attempt to leave 
 some record of Captain Nicholas Craigie. 
 
 A man’s outer case generally gives some indication 
 of the soul within. The captain is tall and well formed, 
 with dark, handsome face, and a curious way of twitch- 
 ing his limbs, which may arise from nervousness, or be 
 simply an outcome of his excessive energy. His jaw 
 and whole cast of countenance are manly and resolute, 
 but the eyes are the distinctive feature of his face. They 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 127 
 
 are of the very darkest hazel, bright and eager, with a 
 singular mixture of recklessness in their expression, and 
 of something else which I have sometimes thought was 
 more allied with horror than any other emotion. Gener- 
 ally the former predominated, but on occasions, and more 
 particularly when he was thoughtfully inclined, the look 
 of fear would spread and deepen until it imparted a new 
 character to his whole countenance. It is at these times 
 that he is most subject to tempestuous fits of anger, and 
 he seems to be aware of it, for I have known him to lock 
 himself up so that no one might approach’ him until his 
 dark hour was passed. He sleeps badly, and I have 
 heard him shouting during the night, but his cabin is 
 some little distance from mine and I could never dis- 
 tinguish the words which he said. 
 
 This is one phase of his character, and the most dis- 
 agreeable one. It is only through my close association 
 with him, thrown together as we are day after day, that 
 I have observed it. Otherwise he is an agreeable com- 
 panion, well-read and entertaining, and as gallant a sea- 
 man as ever trod a deck. I shall not easily forget the 
 way in which he handled the ship when we were caught 
 by a gale among the loose ice at the beginning of April. 
 IT have never seen him so cheerful, and even hilarious, 
 as he was that night, as he paced backward and forward 
 upon the bridge amid the flashing of the lightning and 
 the howling of the wind. He has told me several times 
 that the thought of death was a pleasant one to him, 
 which is a sad thing for a young man to say. He cannot 
 be much more than thirty, though his hair and mustache 
 are already slightly grizzled. Some great sorrow must 
 have overtaken him and blighted his whole life. Perhaps 
 I should be the same if I lost my Flora—God knows! 
 I think if it were not for her I should care very little 
 whether the wind blew from the north or the south to- 
 morrow. There, I hear him come down the companion, 
 and he has locked himself up in his room, which shows 
 that he is still in an unamiable mood. And so to bed, 
 as old Pepys would say, for the candle is burning down 
 
128 A STUDY IN SCARLET | 
 (we have to use them now since the nights are closing 
 in), and the steward has turned in, so there are no hopes 
 of another one. 
 
 September 12.—Calm, clear day, and still lying in the 
 same position. What wind there is comes from the south- 
 east, but it is very slight. Captain is in a better humor, 
 and apologized to me at breakfast for his rudeness. He 
 still looks somewhat distrait, however, and retains that 
 wild look in his eyes which in a Highlander would mean 
 that he was “fey’—at least so our chief engineer re- 
 marked to me, and he has some reputation among the 
 Celtic portion of our crew as a seer and expounder of 
 omens. 
 
 It is strange that superstition should have obtained 
 such mastery over this hard-headed and practical race. 
 I could not have believed to what an extent it is carried 
 had I not observed it for myself. We have had a per- 
 fect epidemic of it this voyage, until I have felt in- 
 clined to serve out rations of sedatives and nerve tonics 
 with the Saturday allowance of grog. The first symptom 
 of it was that shortly after leaving Shetland the men 
 at the wheel used to complain that they heard plaintive 
 cries and screams in the wake of the ship, as if some- 
 thing were following it and were unable to overtake it. 
 This fiction has been kept up during the whole voyage, 
 and on dark nights at the beginning of the seal-fishing 
 it was only with great difficulty that men could be induced 
 to do their spell. No doubt what they heard was either 
 the creaking of the rudder-chains or the cry of some 
 passing sea-bird. I have been fetched out of bed several 
 times to listen to it, but I need hardly say that I was never 
 able to distinguish anything unnatural. The men, how- 
 ever, are so absurdly positive upon the subject that it is 
 hopeless to argue with them. I mentioned the matter to 
 the captain once, but to my surprise he took it very 
 gravely, and, indeed, appeared to be considerably dis- 
 turbed by what I told him. I should have thought that he 
 at least would have been above such vulgar delusions. 
 
 All this disquisition upon superstition leads me up to 
 the fact that Mr. Manson, our second mate, saw a ghost 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 129 
 
 last night—or, at least, says that he did, which of course 
 is the same thing. It is quite refreshing to have some 
 new topic of conversation after the eternal routine of 
 bears and whales which has served us for so many 
 months. Manson swears the ship is haunted, and that 
 he would not stay in her a day if he had any other place 
 to go. Indeed, the fellow is honestly frightened, and I 
 had to give him some chloral and bromide of potassium 
 this morning to steady him down. He seemed quite in- 
 dignant when I suggested that he had been having an 
 extra glass the night before, and I was obliged to pacify 
 him by keeping as grave a countenance as possible during 
 his story, which he certainly narrated in a very straight- 
 forward and matter-of-fact way. 
 
 “I was on the bridge,” he said, “about four bells in 
 the middle watch, just when the night was at its darkest. 
 There was a bit of a moon, but the clouds were blowing 
 across it so that you couldn’t see far from the ship. 
 John M’Leod, the harpooner, came aft from the foc’sle- 
 head and reported a strange noise on the starboard bow. 
 I went forward and we both heard it, sometimes like a 
 bairn crying and sometimes like a wench in pain. I’ve 
 been seventeen years to the country, and I never heard 
 seal, old or young, make a sound like that. As we were 
 standing there on the foc’sle-head the moon came out 
 from behind a cloud, and we both saw a sort of white 
 figure moving across the ice-field in the same direction 
 that we had heard the cries. We lost sight of it for a 
 while, but it came back on the port bow, and we could just 
 make it out like a shadow on the ice, I sent a hand aft 
 for the rifles, and M’Leod and I went down onto the 
 pack, thinking that maybe it might be a bear. When we 
 got on the ice I lost sight of M’Leod, but I pushed on 
 in the direction where I could still hear the cries. I fol- 
 lowed them for a mile or maybe more, and then, running 
 round a hummock, I came right on to the top of it, stand- 
 ing and waiting for me, seemingly. I don’t know what it 
 Was; it wasn’t a bear, any way. It was tall and white 
 and straight, and if it wasn’t a man nor a woman, I'll 
 
130 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 stake my davy it was something worse. I made for 
 the ship as hard as I could run, and precious glad I 
 was to find myself aboard. I signed articles to do my 
 duty by the ship, and on the ship I'll stay; but you don’t 
 catch me on the ice again after sundown,” 
 
 That is his story, given as far as I can in his own 
 words. I fancy what he saw must, in spite of his de- 
 nial, have been a young bear erect upon its hind legs, 
 an attitude which they often assume when alarmed. 
 In the uncertain light this would bear a resemblance to 
 a human figure, especially to a man whose nerves were 
 already somewhat shaken. Whatever it may have been, 
 the occurrence is unfortunate, for it has produced a most 
 unpleasant effect upon the crew. ‘Their looks are more 
 sullen than before, and their discontent more open. The 
 double grievance of being debarred from the herring fish- 
 ing and of being detained in what they choose to call a 
 haunted vessel may lead them to do something rash. 
 Even the harpooners, who are the oldest and steadiest 
 among them, are joining in the general agitation. 
 
 Apart from this absurd outbreak of superstition things 
 are looking rather more cheerful. The pack which was 
 forming to the south of us has partly cleared away, and 
 the water is so warm as to lead me to believe that we 
 are lying in one of those branches of the Gulf stream 
 which run up between Greenland and Spitzbergen. There 
 are numerous small Medusz and sea lemons about the 
 ship, with abundance of shrimps, so that there is every 
 possibility of “fish” being sighted. Indeed, one was seen 
 blowing about dinner-time, but in such a position that it 
 was impossible for the boats to follow it. 
 
 September 13.—Had an interesting conversation with 
 the chief mate, Mr. Milne, upon the bridge. It seems 
 that our captain is as great an enigma to the seamen, and 
 even to the owners of the vessel, as he has been to me. 
 Mr. Milne tells me that when the ship is paid off, upon 
 returning from a voyage, Captain Craigie disappears, and 
 is not seen again until the approach of another season, — 
 when he walks quietly into the office of the company and 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 131 
 
 asks whether his services will be required. He has no 
 friend in Dundee, nor does any one pretend to be ac- 
 quainted with his early history. His position depends en- 
 tirely upon his skill as a seaman and the name for courage 
 and coolness which he had earned ‘in the capacity of mate, 
 before being entrusted with a separate command. The 
 unanimous opinion seems to be that he is not a Scotch- 
 man, and that his name is an assumed one. Mr, Milne 
 thinks that he has devoted himself to whaling simply 
 for the reason that it is the most dangerous occupation 
 which he could select, and that he’ courts death in every 
 possible manner. He mentioned several instances of 
 this, one of which is rather curious, if true. It seems 
 that on one occasion he did not put in an appearance at 
 the office, and a substitute had to be selected in his 
 place. That was at the time of the last Russian and 
 Turkish war. When he turned up again next spring he 
 had a puckered wound in the side of his neck which he 
 used to endeavor to conceal with his cravat. Whether 
 the mate’s inference that he had been engaged in the war 
 is true or not I cannot say. It was certainly a strange 
 coincidence. 
 
 The wind is veering round in an easterly direction, but 
 is still very slight. I think the ice is lying closer than 
 it did yesterday. As far as the eye can reach on every 
 side there is one wide expanse of spotless white, only 
 broken by an occasional rift or the dark shadow of a 
 hummock. To the south there is the narrow lane of 
 blue water which is our sole means of escape, and which 
 is closing up every day. The captain is taking a heavy 
 responsibility upon himself. I hear that the tank of 
 potatoes has been finished, and even the biscuits are 
 tunning short, but he preserves the same impassible coun- 
 tenance, and spends the greater part of the day at the 
 crow’s nest, sweeping the horizon with his glass. His 
 manner is very variable, and he seems to avoid my society, 
 but there has been no repetition of the violence which he 
 showed the other night. 
 
 7.30 P. M.—My deliberate opinion is that we are com- 
 
132 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 manded by a madman. Nothing else can account for 
 
 the extraordinary vagaries of Captain Craigie. It is 
 
 fortunate that I have kept this journal of our voyage, as’ 
 
 it will serve to justify us in case we have to put him under 
 any sort of restraint, a step which I should only consent 
 
 to as a last resource. Curiously enough, it was he 
 
 himself who suggested lunacy and not mere eccentricity 
 as the secret of his strange conduct. He was standing 
 upon the bridge about an hour ago, peering, as usual, 
 through his glass, while I was walking up and down the 
 quarter-deck. The majority of the men were below at 
 their tea, for the watches have not been kept regularly 
 of late. Tired of walking, I leaned against the bulwarks 
 and admired the mellow glow cast by the sinking sun 
 upon the great ice fields which surround us. I was 
 suddenly aroused from the reverie into which I had fallen 
 by a hoarse voice at my elbow, and starting round I found 
 that the captain had descended and was standing by my 
 side. He was starting out over the ice with an expression 
 in which horror, surprise, and something approaching to 
 
 joy were contending for the mastery. In spite of the cold, 
 
 great drops of perspiration were coursing down his fore- 
 
 head, and he was evidently fearfully excited. His limbs 
 twitched like those of a man upon the verge of an epileptic 
 
 fit, and the lines about his mouth were drawn and hard. © 
 
 “Look!” he gasped, seizing me by the wrist, but still 
 keeping his eyes upon the distant ice, and moving. his’ 
 head slowly in a horizontal direction, as if following 
 
 some object which was moving across the field of vision. 
 
 “Look! there, man, there! Between the hummocks! 
 Now coming out from behind the far one! You see her 
 —you must see her! There still! Flying from me, by 
 
 God! flying from me—and—gone!” 
 
 He uttered the last two words in a whisper of concen- 
 
 trated agony which shall never fade from my remem- 
 brance. Clinging to the ratlines, he endeavored to climb 
 
 upon the top of the bulwarks, as if in the hope of ob- 
 taining a last glance at the departing object. His strength 
 was not equal to the attempt, however, and he staggered 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 133 
 
 back against the saloon skylights, where he leaned pant- 
 ing and exhausted. His face was so livid that 1 expected 
 him to become unconscious, so lost no time in leading 
 him down the companion and stretching him upon one 
 of the sofas in the cabin. I then poured him out some 
 brandy, which I held to his lips, and which had a won- 
 derful effect upon him, bringing the blood back into his 
 white face and steadying his poor, shaken limbs. He 
 raised himself up upon his elbow, and, looking round 
 to see that we were alone, he beckoned me to come and 
 sit beside him. 
 
 “You saw it, didn’t you?” he asked, still in the same 
 subdued, awesome tone so foreign to the nature of the 
 man. 
 
 “No, I saw nothing.” 
 
 His head sunk back again upon the cushions. “No, 
 he wouldn’t without the glass,’ he murmured. “He 
 couldn’t. It was the glass that showed her to me, and 
 then the eyes of love—the eyes of love. I say, Doc, 
 don’t let the steward in! He'll think I’m mad. Just 
 bolt the door, will you?” 
 
 I rose and did what he had commanded. 
 
 He lay quiet for a while—lost in thought, apparently, 
 and then raised himself up upon his elbow again, and 
 asked for some more brandy. 
 
 “You don’t think I am, do you, Doc?” he asked, as I 
 was putting the bottle back into the after-locker. “Tell 
 me, now, as man to man, do you think that I am mad?” 
 
 “T think you have something on your mind,” I an- 
 swered, “which is exciting you and doing you a good deal 
 of harm.” 
 
 “Right there, lad!’ he cried, his eyes sparkling from 
 the effects of the brandy. “Plenty on my mind—plenty! 
 But I can work out the latitude and the longitude, and 
 I can handle my sextant and manage my logarithms. 
 You couldn’t prove me mad in a court of law, could you, 
 now?” It was curious to hear the man lying back and 
 coolly arguing out the question of his own sanity. 
 
 “Perhaps not,’ I said: “but still I think you would 
 
t 
 , 
 
 134 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 eee 
 be wise to get home as soon as you can, and settle down 
 to a quiet life for a while.” | 
 
 “Get home, eh?” he muttered, with a sneer upon his 
 face. “One word for me and two for yourself, lad. 
 Settle down with Flora—pretty little Flora, Are bad. 
 dreams signs of madness?” | 
 
 “Sometimes,” I answered. 
 
 “What else? What would be the first symptoms ?” 
 
 “Pains in the head, noises in the ears, flashes before 
 the eyes, delusions nf 
 
 “Ah! what about them?” he interrupted. “What would 
 you call a delusion?” 
 
 “Seeing a thing which is not there is a delusion.” 
 
 “But she was there!” he groaned to himself. “She 
 was there!” and, rising, he unbolted the door and walked 
 with slow and uncertain steps to his own cabin, where 
 I have no doubt he will remain until to-morrow morning, 
 His system seems to have received a terrible shock, what- 
 ever it may have been that he imagined himself to have 
 seen. The man becomes a greater mystery every day, 
 though I fear that the solution which he has himself sug- 
 gested is the correct one, and that his reason is affected. 
 I do not think that a guilty conscience has anything to do 
 with his behavior. The idea is a popular one among the 
 officers, and, I believe, the crew, but I have seen nothing 
 to support it. He has not the air of a guilty man, but of 
 one who has had terrible usage at the hands of fortune, 
 and who should be regarded as a martyr rather than a 
 criminal. 
 
 The wind is veering round to the south to-night. 
 God help us if it blocks that narrow pass which is our 
 only road to safety! Situated as we are on the edge of 
 the main Arctic pack, or the “barrier,” as it is called 
 by the whalers, any wind from the north has the eftect 
 of shredding out the ice around us and allowing our 
 escape, while a wind from the south blows up all the 
 loose ice behind us and hems us in between two packs. 
 God help us, I say again! 
 
 September 14.—Sunday, and a day of rest. My fears 
 
 ) 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 135 
 
 have been confirmed, and the thin strip of blue water 
 has disappeared from the southward. Nothing but the 
 great, motionless ice fields around us, with their weird 
 hummocks and fantastic pinnacles. There is a deathly 
 silence over their wide expanse which is horrible. No 
 lapping of the waves now, no cries of seagulls or strain- 
 ing of sails, but one deep universal silence, in which the 
 murmurs of the seamen and the creak of their boots 
 upon the white, shining deck seem discordant and out 
 of place. Our only visitor was an Arctic fox, a rare 
 animal upon the pack, though common enough upon the 
 land. He did not come near the ship, however, but after 
 surveying us from a distance fled rapidly across the ice. 
 This was curious conduct, as they generally know nothing 
 of man, and being of an inquisitive nature, become so 
 familiar that they are easily captured. Incredible as it 
 may seem, even this little incident produced a bad effect 
 upon the crew. “Yon puir beastie kens mair, ay, an’ sees 
 mair nor you nor me!” was the comment of one of the 
 leading harpooners, and the others nodded their acquies- 
 cence. It is vain to attempt to argue against such puerile 
 superstition. They have made up their minds that there 
 is a curse upon the ship, and nothing will ever persuade 
 them to the contrary. 
 
 The captain remained in seclusion all day except for 
 about half an hour in the afternoon, when he came out 
 upon the quarter-deck. I observed that he kept his eye 
 fixed upon the spot where the vision of yesterday had 
 appeared, and was quite prepared for another outburst, 
 but none such came. He did not seem to see me, although 
 I was standing close beside him, Divine service was 
 read, as usual, by the chief engineer. It is a curious 
 thing that in whaling vessels the Church of England 
 prayer-book is always employed, although there is never 
 a member of that Church among either officers or crew. 
 Our men are all Roman Catholics or Presbyterians, the 
 former predominating. Since a ritual is used which is 
 foreign to both, neither can complain that the other is 
 preferred to them, and they listen with all attention and 
 
136 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 eee 
 devotion, so that the system has something to recommend 
 it. | | 
 A glorious sunset, which made the great fields of ice 
 look like a lake of blood. I have never seen a finer and 
 at the same time more weird effect. Wind is veering 
 round. If it will blow twenty-four hours from the north 
 all will yet be well. | 
 September 15.—To-day is Flora’s birthday. Dear lass! 
 it is well that she cannot see her boy, as she used to call 
 me, shut up among the ice fields with a crazy captain 
 and a few weeks’ provisions. No doubt she scans the 
 shipping list in the “Scotsman” every morning to see 
 if we are reported from Shetland. I have to set an 
 example to the men and look cheery and unconcerned, 
 but God knows my heart is very heavy at times. | 
 The thermometer is at 19 Fahrenheit to-day. There 
 is but little wind, and what there is comes from an un- 
 favorable quarter. Captain is in an excellent humor: I 
 think he imagines he has seen some other omen or vision, 
 poor fellow, during the night, for he came into my room 
 early in the morning and, stooping down over my bunk, 
 whispered, “It wasn’t a delusion, Doc; it’s all right!’ 
 After breakfast he asked me to find out how much food. 
 was left, which the second mate and I proceeded to do. 
 It is even less than we had expected, Forward they have 
 half a tank full of biscuits, three barrels of salt meat, and 
 a very limited supply of coffee beans and sugar. In the 
 after-hold and lockers there are a good many luxuries, 
 such as tinned salmon, soups, harricot mutton, etc., but. 
 they will go a very short way among a crew of fifty men. 
 There are two barrels of flour in the store-room, and 
 an unlimited supply of tobacco. Altogether there is about | 
 enough to keep the men on half rations for eighteen or 
 twenty days—certainly not more. When we reported the. 
 state of things to the captain he ordered all hands to be 
 piped, and addressed them from the quarter-deck. I : 
 never saw him to better advantage. With his tall, well- 
 knit figure, and dark, animated face, he seemed a man 
 born to command, and he discussed the situation in a cool, : 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 137 
 
 sailor-like way which showed that, while appreciating the 
 danger, he had an eye for every loophole of escape. 
 “My lads,” he said, “no doubt you think I brought 
 you into this fix, if it is a fix, and maybe some of you 
 feel bitter against me on account of it. But you must 
 remember that for many a season no ship that comes 
 to the country has brought in as much oil-money as 
 the old ‘Pole-Star,’ and every one of you has had his 
 share of it. You can leave your wives behind you in 
 comfort while other poor fellows come back to find 
 their lasses on the parish. If you have to thank me for 
 the one you have to thank me for the other, and we may 
 call it quits. We've tried a bold venture before this 
 and succeeded, so now that we’ve tried one and failed 
 we've no cause to cry out about it. If the worst comes 
 to the worst, we can make the land across the ice, and 
 lay in a stock of seals which will keep us alive until the 
 spring. It won’t come to that, though, for you'll see the 
 Scotch coast again before three weeks are out. At 
 present every man must go on half rations, share and 
 share alike, and no favor to any. Keep up your hearts 
 and you'll pull through this, as you’ve pulled through 
 many a danger before.” ‘These few simple words of his 
 had a wonderful effect upon the crew. His former un- 
 popularity was forgotten, and the old harpooner whom I 
 have already mentioned for his superstition led off three 
 cheers, which were heartily joined in by all hands. 
 September 16.—The wind has veered round to the 
 north during the night, and the ice shows some-symptoms 
 of opening out. The men are in good humor in spite 
 of the short allowance upon which they have been placed. 
 Steam is kept up in the engine-room, that there may be 
 no delay should an opportunity for escape present it- 
 self. The captain is in exuberant spirits, though he still 
 retains that wild “fey” expression which I have already 
 remarked upon. This burst of cheerfulness puzzles me 
 more than his former gloom. I cannot understand it. 
 I think I mentioned in an early part of this journal that 
 one of his oddities is that he never permits any person 
 
138 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 to enter his cabin, but insists upon making his own bed, 
 such as it is, and performing every other office for him- 
 self. 
 
 To my surprise he handed me the key to-day and re- 
 quested me to go down there and take the time by his 
 chronometer while he measured the altitude of the sun 
 at noon. It was a bare little room, containing a wash- 
 ing-stand and a few books, but little else in the way of 
 luxury, except some pictures upon the walls. The ma- 
 jority of these are small, cheap oleographs, but there 
 was one water-color sketch of the head of a young lady 
 which arrested my attention. It was evidently a por- 
 trait, and not one of those fancy types of female beauty 
 which sailors particularly affect. No artist could have 
 evolved from his own mind such a mixture of character 
 and weakness. The languid, dreamy eyes, with their 
 drooping lashes, and the broad, low brow, unruffled by 
 thought or care, were in strong contrast with the clean- 
 cut, prominent jaw, and the resolute set of the lower 
 lip. Underneath it in one of the corners was written, 
 ‘M. B., xt. 19.” That any one in the short’ space 
 of nineteen years of existence could develop such strength. 
 of will as was stamped upon her face seemed to me at 
 the time to be well-nigh incredible. She must have been’ 
 an extraordinary woman. Her features have thrown such 
 a glamour over me that, though I had but a fleeting glance” 
 at them, I could, were I a draughtsman, reproduce them 
 line for line upon this page of the journal. I wonder what 
 part she has played in our captain’s life. He has hung 
 her picture at the end of his berth, so that his eyes con- 
 tinually rest upon it. Were he a less reserved man I 
 should make some remark upon the subject. Of the other 
 things in his cabin there was nothing worthy of mention” 
 —uniform coats, a camp-stool, small looking-glass, to- 
 bacco-box, and numerous pipes, including an Oriental 
 hookah—which, by-the-bye, gives some color to Mr. 
 Milne’s story about his participation in the war, though 
 the connection may seem rather a distant one. : 
 
 11.20 P. M.—Captain just gone to bed after a long 
 
 j 
 4 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 139 
 
 and interesting conversation on general topics. When he 
 chooses he can be a most fascinating companion, being 
 remarkably well read, and having the power of expressing 
 his opinion forcibly without appearing to be dogmatic. 
 I hate to have my intellectual toes trod upon. He spoke 
 about the nature of the soul, and sketched out the views 
 of Aristotle and Plato upon the subject in a masterly 
 manner. He seems to have a leaning for metempsychosis 
 and the doctrines of Pythagoras. In discussing them 
 we touched upon, modern spiritualism, and I made some 
 joking allusion to the impostures of Slade, upon which, 
 to my surprise, he warned me most impressively against 
 confusing the innocent with the guilty, and argued that 
 it would be as logical to brand Christianity as an error 
 because Judas, who professed that religion, was a villain. 
 He shortly afterward bid me good-night and retired to 
 his room. 
 
 The wind is freshening up, and blows steadily from the 
 north. The nights are as dark now as they are in Eng- 
 land. I hope to-morrow may set us free from our frozen 
 fetters. 
 
 September 17,—The bogie again. Thank heaven that 
 I have strong nerves! The superstition of these poor 
 fellows, and the circumstantial accounts which they give, 
 with the utmost earnestness and self-conviction, would 
 horrify any man not accustomed to their ways. There 
 are many versions of the matter, but the sum _ total 
 of them all is that something uncanny has been flitting 
 round the ship all night, and that Sandy McDonald of 
 Peterhead and “lang”? Peter Williamson of Shetland saw 
 it, as also did Mr. Milne on the bridge—so, having three 
 witnesses, they can make a better case of it than the second 
 mate did. I spoke to Milne after breakfast, and told him 
 that he should be above such nonsense, and that as an 
 officer he ought to set the men a better example. He 
 shook his weather-beaten head ominously, but answered 
 with characteristic caution, ““Mebbe aye, mebbe na, doc- 
 tor,” he said; “I didna ca’ it a ghaist. I canna say I 
 preen my faith in sea bogles an’ the like, though there’s a 
 
140 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 mony as claims to ha’ seen a’ that and waur. I’m no 
 easy feared, but maybe your ain bluid would run a bit 
 cauld, mun, if, instead o’ speerin’ aboot it in daylicht, | 
 ye were wi’ me last night, an’ seed an awfu’ like shape, | 
 white an’ grewsome, whiles here, whiles there, an’ it 
 ereetin’ and ca’ing in the darkness like a bit lambie 
 that hae lost its mither. Ye would na’ be sae ready 
 to put it a’ doon to auld wives’ clavers then, I’m thinkin,’ ”’ 
 I saw it was hopeless to reason with him, so contented 
 myself with begging him as a personal, favor to call me 
 up the next time the spectre appeared—a request to which 
 he acceded with many ejaculations expressive of his hopes 
 that such an opportunity might never arise. | 
 As I had hoped, the white desert behind us has be-- 
 come broken by many thin streaks of water which in-— 
 tersect it in all directions. Our latitude to-day was 
 80° 52’ N., which shows that there is a strong southerly ~ 
 drift upon the pack. Should the wind continue favorable 
 it will break up as rapidly as it formed. At present we — 
 can do nothing but smoke and wait and hope for the 
 best. JI am rapidly becoming a fatalist. When dealing 
 with such uncertain factors as wind and ice a man can be 
 nothing else. Perhaps it was the wind and sand of the 
 Arabian deserts which gave the minds of the original 
 followers of Mohammed their tendency to bow to kismet. 
 These spectral alarms have a very bad effect upon the — 
 captain. I feared that it might excite his sensitive mind, | 
 and endeavored to conceal the absurd story from him, — 
 but unfortunately he overheard one of the men making | 
 an allusion to it, and insisted upon being informed about — 
 it. As 1 had expected, it brought out all his latent lunacy — 
 in an exaggerated form. I can hardly believe that this 
 is the same man who discoursed philosophy last night 
 with the most critical acumen and coolest judgment. He 
 is pacing backward and forward upon the quarter-deck — 
 like a caged tiger, stopping now and then to throw out 
 his hands with a yearning gesture, and stare impatiently 
 out over the ice. He keeps up a continual mutter to 
 himself, and once he called out, “But a little time, love—_ 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 141 
 
 but a little time!” Poor fellow! it is sad to see a gallant 
 seaman and accomplished gentleman reduced to such a 
 pass, and to think that imagination and delusion can cow 
 a mind to which real danger was but the salt ‘of life. 
 Was ever a man in such a position as I, between a de- 
 mented captain and a ghost-seeing mate? I sometimes 
 think I am the only really sane man aboard the vessel— 
 except, perhaps, the second engineer, who is a kind of 
 ruminant, and would care nothing for all the fiends in 
 the Red Sea so long as they would leave him alone and 
 not disarrange his tools. 
 
 The ice is still opening rapidly, and there is every 
 probability of our being able to make a start to-morrow 
 morning. They will think I am inventing when I tell 
 them at home all the strange things that have befallen me. 
 
 12 P. M.—I have been a good deal startled, though 
 I feel steadier now, thanks to a stiff glass of brandy. 
 IT am hardly myself yet, however, as this handwriting 
 will testify. The fact is that I have gone through a very 
 strange experience, and am beginning to doubt whether 
 I was justified in branding every one on board as madmen 
 because they professed to have seen things which did 
 not seem reasonable to my understanding. Pshaw! I 
 am a fool to let such a trifle unnerve me, and yet, com- 
 ing as it does after all these alarms, it has an additional 
 significance, for I cannot doubt either Mr. Manson’s 
 story or that of the mate, now that I have experienced 
 that which I used formerly to scoff at. 
 
 After all it was nothing very alarming—a mere sound, 
 and that was all. I cannot expect that any one reading 
 this, if any one ever should read it, will sympathize with 
 my feelings, or realize the effect which it produced upon 
 me at the time. Supper was over, and I had gone on 
 deck to have a quiet pipe before turning in. The night 
 was very dark—so dark that, standing upon the quarter- 
 boat, I was unable to see the officer upon the bridge. I 
 think I have already mentioned the extraordinary silence 
 which prevails in these frozen seas. In other parts of the 
 world, be they ever so barren, there is some slight vibra- 
 
142 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 tion of the air—some faint hum, be it from the distant 
 haunts of men, or from the leaves of the trees, or the 
 wings of the birds, or even the faint rustle of the grass 
 that covers the ground. One may not actively perceive 
 the sound, and yet if it were withdrawn it would be 
 missed. It is only here in these Arctic seas that stark, 
 unfathomable stillness obtrudes itself upon you in all its 
 grewsome reality. You find your tympanum straining 
 to catch some little murmur, and dwelling eagerly upon 
 every accidental sound within the vessel. In this state 
 I was leaning against the bulwarks, when there arose 
 from the ice almost directly underneath me a cry, sharp 
 and shrill, upon the silent air of the night, beginning, as 
 it seemed to me, at a note such as prima donna never 
 reached, and mounting from that ever higher and higher, 
 until it culminated in a long wail of agony, which might 
 have been the last cry of a lost soul. The ghastly scream 
 is still ringing in my ears. Grief, unutterable grief, 
 seemed to be expressed in it, and a great longing, and 
 yet through it all there was an occasional wild note 
 of exultation. It shrilled out from close beside me, and 
 yet as I glared into the darkness I could discern nothing. 
 I waited some little time, but without hearing any repeti- 
 tion of the sound, so I came below, more shaken than 
 I have ever been in my life before. As I came down the 
 companion I met Mr. Milne coming up to relieve the 
 watch. “Weel, doctor,” he said, “maybe that’s aul wives’ 
 clavers, tae? Did ye no hear it skirling? Maybe that’s 
 a supersteetion? What d’ye think o’t noo?” I was 
 obliged to apologize to the honest fellow, and acknowledge 
 that I was as puzzled by it as he was. Perhaps to-morrow 
 things may look different. At present I dare hardly 
 write all that I think. Reading it again in days to come, 
 when I have shaken off all these associations, I should 
 despise myself for having been so weak. 
 
 September 18.—Passed a restless and uneasy night, 
 still haunted by that strange sound. The captain does 
 not look as if he had had much repose, either, for his 
 face is haggard and his eyes bloodshot. I have not. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 143 
 
 told him of my adventure of last night, nor shall I. He 
 is already restless and excited, standing up, sitting down, 
 and apparently utterly unable to keep still. 
 
 A fine lead appeared in the pack this morning, as I had 
 expected, and we were able to cast off our ice-anchor and 
 steam about twelve miles in a west-sou’-westerly direc- 
 tion. We were then brought to a halt by a great floe as 
 massive as any which we have left behind us. It bars 
 our progress completely, so we can do nothing but anchor 
 again and wait until it breaks up, which it will probably 
 do within twenty-four hours if the wind holds. Several 
 bladder-nosed seals were seen swimming in the water, and 
 one was shot, an immense creature more than eleven feet 
 long. They are fierce, pugnacious animals, and are said 
 to be more than a match for a bear. Fortunately they 
 are slow and clumsy in their movements, so that there is 
 little danger in attacking them upon the ice. 
 
 The captain evidently does not think we have seen the 
 last of our troubles, though why he should take a gloomy 
 view of the situation is more than I can fathom, since 
 every one else on board considers that we have had a 
 miraculous escape and are sure now to reach the open 
 sea. 
 “T suppose you think it’s all right now, doctor?” he 
 said, as we sat together after dinner. 
 
 “TI hope so,” I answered. 
 
 “We mustn’t be too sure—and yet no doubt you are 
 right. We'll all be in the arms of our own true loves 
 before long, lad, won’t we? But we mustn’t be too 
 sure—we mustn’t be too sure.” 
 
 He sat silent a little, swinging his leg thoughtfully 
 backward and forward. “Look here,” he continued; “‘it’s 
 a dangerous place this, even at its best—a treacherous, 
 dangerous place. I have known men cut off very sud- 
 denly in a land like this. A slip would do it sometimes— 
 a single slip, and down you go through a crack, and only 
 a bubble on the green water to show where it was that 
 you sank. It’s a queer thing,” he continued with a ner- 
 vous laugh, “but all the years I’ve been in this country I 
 
144 A STUDY IN SCARLET i 
 
 never once thought of making a will—not that I have any- 
 thing to leave in particular, but still, when a man is ex- 
 posed to danger, he should have everything arranged 
 and ready. Don’t you think so?” | 
 
 “Certainly,” I answered, wondering what on earth he 
 was driving at. 
 
 “He feels better for knowing it’s all settled,’ he went 
 on. “Now if anything should ever befall me I hope that 
 you will look after things for me. There is very little in 
 the cabin, but such as it is I should like it to be sold, 
 and the money divided in the same proportion as the oil- 
 money among the crew. The chronometer 1 wish you 
 to keep yourself as some slight remembrance of our 
 voyage. Of course all this is a mere precaution, but I 
 thought I would take the opportunity of speaking to you 
 about it. I suppose I might rely upon you if there were 
 any necessity?” | 
 
 “Most assuredly,’ I answered; “and since you are 
 taking this step, I may as well i | 
 
 “You! you!” he interrupted. “Yow’re all right. What 
 the devil is the matter with you? There, I didn’t mean 
 to be peppery, but I don’t like to hear a young fellow, 
 that has hardly begun life, speculating about death. Go 
 up on deck and get some fresh air into your lungs instead 
 of talking nonsense in the cabin, and encouraging me to 
 do the same.” 
 
 The more I think of this conversation of ours the less” 
 do I like it. Why should the man be settling his affairs 
 at the very time when we seem to be emerging from 
 all danger? There must be some method in his madness. 
 Can it be that he contemplates suicide? I remember 
 that upon one occasion he spoke in a deeply reverent 
 manner of the heinousness of the crime of self-destruc- 
 tion. I shall keep my eye upon him, however, and though — 
 I cannot obtrude upon the privacy of his cabin, I shall 
 at least make a point of remaining on deck as long as 
 he stays up. } 
 
 Mr. Milne pooh-poohs my fears and says it is only 
 the “skipper’s little way.’ He himself takes a very rosy 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 145 
 
 view of the situation. According to him we shall be 
 out of the ice by the day after to-morrow, pass Jan 
 Meyen two days after that, and sight Shetland in little 
 more than a week. I hope he may not be too sanguine. 
 His opinion may be fairly balanced against the gloomy 
 precautions of the captain, for he is an old and ex- 
 perienced seaman, and weighs his words well before 
 uttering them. 
 2 So * Xe X* 2 
 
 The long-impending catastrophe has come at last. I 
 hardly know what to write about it. The captain is gone. 
 He may come back to us again alive, but I fear me— 
 I fear me. It is now seven o’clock of the morning of the 
 19th of September. I have spent the whole night traver- 
 sing the great ice-floe in front of us with a party of sea- 
 men in the hope of coming upon some trace of him, but in 
 vain. I shall try to give some account of the circumstances 
 which attended upon his disappearance. Should any one 
 ever chance to read the words which I put down, I trust 
 they will remember that I do not write from conjecture or 
 from hearsay, but that I, a sane and educated man, am de- 
 scribing accurately what actually occurred before my 
 very eyes. My inferences are my own, but I-+shall be 
 answerable for the facts. 
 
 The captain remained in excellent spirits after the 
 conversation which I have recorded. He appeared to be 
 nervous and impatient, however, frequently changing his 
 position, and moving his limbs in an aimless way, which 
 is characteristic of him at times. In a quarter of an 
 hour he went upon deck seven times, only to descend 
 after a few hurried paces. I followed him each time, 
 for there was something about his face which confirmed 
 my resolution of not letting him out of my sight. He 
 seemed to observe the effect which his movements had 
 produced, for he endeavored by an over-done hilarity, 
 laughing boisterously at the very smallest of jokes, to 
 quiet my apprehensions. 
 
 _ After supper he went onto the poop once more, and I 
 with him. The night was dark and very still, save for 
 
146 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 a 
 
 the melancholy soughing of the wind among the spars. | 
 A thick cloud was coming up from the northwest, and | 
 the ragged tentacles which it threw out in front of it | 
 were drifting across the face of the moon, which only © 
 shone now and again through a rift in the wrack. The © 
 captain paced rapidly backward and forward, and then, 
 seeing me still dogging him, he came across and hinted 
 that he thought I should be better below—which, I need 
 hardly say, had the effect of strengthening my resolution 
 to remain on deck. 
 
 I think he forgot about my presence after this, for 
 he stood silently leaning over the taffrail, and peering 
 out across the great desert of snow, part of which lay in 
 shadow, while part glittered mistily in the moonlight. 
 Several times I could see by his movements that he was 
 referring to his watch, and once he muttered a short sen- 
 tence, of which I could only catch the one word, “ready.” 
 
 I confess to having felt an eerie feeling creeping over me 
 as I watched the loom of his tall figure through the 
 darkness, and noted how completely he fulfilled the idea 
 of a man who is keeping a tryst. A tryst with whom? 
 Some vague perception began to dawn upon me as [ 
 pieced one fact with another, but I was utterly unprepared — 
 for the sequel. 
 
 By the sudden intensity of his attitude I felt that he 
 saw something. I crept up behind him. He was staring 
 with an eager, questioning gaze at what seemed to be 
 a wreath of mist, blown swiftly in a line with the ship. 
 It was a dim, nebulous body, devoid of shape, sometimes 
 more, sometimes less apparent, as the light fell on it. 
 The moon was dimmed in its brilliancy at the moment by 
 a canopy of*thinnest cloud, like the coating of an anemone. 
 
 “Coming, lass, coming,” cried the skipper, in a voice 
 of unfathomable tenderness and compassion, like one 
 who soothes a beloved one by some favor long looked 
 for, and as pleasant to bestow as to receive. 
 
 What followed happened in an instant. I had no 
 power to interfere. He gave one spring to the top of — 
 the bulwarks, and another which took him onto the ice, 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 147 
 
 almost at the feet of the pale, misty figure. He held 
 out his hands as if to clasp it, and so ran into the darkness 
 with outstretched arms and loving words. I still stood 
 rigid and motionless, straining my eyes after his re- 
 treating form, until his voice died away in the distance. 
 I never thought to see him again, but at that moment the 
 moon shone out brilliantly through a chink in the cloudy 
 heaven, and illuminated the great field of ice. Then I saw 
 his dark figure, already a long way off, running with 
 prodigious speed across the frozen plain. That was the 
 last glimpse which we caught of him—perhaps the last 
 we ever shall. A party was organized to follow him 
 and I accompanied it, but the men’s hearts were not in ~ 
 the work and nothing was found. Another will be formed 
 within a few hours. I can hardly believe that I have 
 not been dreaming, or suffering from some hideous night- 
 mare, as I write these things down. 
 
 7.30 P. M.—Just returned, dead beat and utterly 
 tired out, from a second unsuccessful search for the 
 captain. The floe is of enormous extent, for though we 
 have traversed at least twenty miles of its surface there 
 has been no sign of its coming to an end. The frost 
 has been so severe of late that the overlying snow is 
 frozen as hard as granite, otherwise we might have had 
 the footsteps to guide us. The crew are anxious that 
 we should cast off and steam round the floe and so to 
 the southward, for the ice has opened up during the 
 night, and the sea is visible upon the horizon. They 
 argue that Captain Craigie is certainly dead, and that 
 we are all risking our lives to no purpose by remaining 
 when we have an opportunity of escape. Mr. Milne and 
 I have had the greatest difficulty in persuading them to 
 wait until to-morrow night, and have been compelled to 
 promise that we will not under any circumstances delay 
 our departure longer than that. We propose, therefore, 
 to take a few hours’ sleep, and then to start upon a final 
 search, 
 
 September 20, evening.—I crossed the ice this morning 
 with a party of men exploring the southern part of the 
 
148 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 | 
 a 
 | 
 
 : 
 
 floe, while Mr. Milne went off in a northerly direction. | 
 We pushed on for ten or twelve miles without seeing a 
 trace of any living thing except a single bird, which 
 fluttered a great way over our heads, and which by its 
 
 flight I should judge to have been a falcon, The southern 
 
 extremity of the ice field tapered away into a long, narrow y 
 spit which projected out into the sea. When we came 
 
 to the base of this promontory the men halted, but I 
 
 begged them to continue to the extreme end of it, that we 
 
 might have the satisfaction of knowing that no possible 
 
 chance had been neglected. 
 
 We had hardly gone a hundred yards before M’Donald 
 of Peterhead cried out that he saw something in front 
 of us, and began to run. We all got a glimpse of it 
 and ran, too. At first it was only a vague darkness 
 against the white ice, but as we raced along together 
 it took the shape of a man, and eventually of the man 
 of whom we were in search. He was lying face down- 
 ward upon a frozen bank. Many little crystals of ice 
 and feathers of snow had drifted onto him as he lay, and 
 sparkled upon his dark seaman’s jacket. As we came up 
 some wandering puff of wind caught these tiny flakes in 
 its vortex and they whirled up into the air, partially 
 descended again, and then, caught once more in the cur- 
 rent, sped rapidly away in the direction of the sea. To 
 my eyes it seemed but a snowdrift, but many of my 
 companions averred that it started up in the shape of a 
 woman, stooped over the corpse and kissed it, and then 
 hurried away across the floe. I have learned never to 
 ridicule any man’s opinion, however strange it may seem. 
 Sure it is that Captain Nicholas Craigie had met with 
 no painful end, for there was a bright smile upon his 
 blue, pinched features, and his hands were still out- 
 stretched, as though grasping at the strange visitor which 
 had summoned him away into the dim world that lies 
 beyond the grave. 
 
 We buried him the same afternoon with the ship’s en- 
 sign around him and a thirty-two pound shot at his feet. 
 I read the burial service, while the rough sailors wept 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 149 
 
 like children, for there were many who owed much to 
 his kind heart, and who showed now the affection which 
 his strange ways had repelled during his lifetime. He 
 went off the grating with a dull, sullen splash, and as I 
 looked into the green water I saw him go down, down, 
 down until he was but a little flickering patch of white 
 hanging upon the outskirts of eternal darkness. Then 
 even that faded away, and he was gone. There he shall 
 lie, with his secret and his sorrows and his mystery all 
 still buried in his breast, until that great day when the 
 sea shall give up its dead, and Nicholas Craigie come out 
 from among the ice with the smile/ upon his face, and 
 his stiffened arms outstretched in greeting. I pray that 
 his lot may be a happier one in that life than it has been 
 in this. 
 
 I shall not continue my journal. Our road to home 
 lies plain and clear before us, and the great ice field 
 will soon be but a remembrance of the past. It will be 
 some time before I get over the shock produced by recent 
 events. When I began this record of our voyage [I little 
 thought of how I should be compelled to finish it. I 
 am writing these final words in the lonely cabin, still 
 starting at times and fancying I hear the quick, nervous 
 step of the dead man upon the deck above me. I entered 
 his cabin to-night, as was my duty, to make a list of 
 his affects, in order that they might be entered in the 
 official log. All was as it had been upon my previous 
 visit, save that the picture which I have described as 
 having hung at the end of his bed had been cut out of 
 its frame, as with a knife, and was gone. With this 
 last link in a strange chain of evidence I close my diary 
 of the voyage of the “Pole-Star.” 
 
 [Note by Dr. John M’Alister Ray, senior—I have read over 
 the strange events connected with the death of the captain of the 
 “Pole-Star,” as narrated in the journal of my son. That every- 
 thing occurred exactly as he describes it I have the fullest con- 
 fidence, and, indeed, the most positive certainty, for I know him 
 to be a strong-nerved and unimaginative man, with the strictest 
 regard for veracity. Still, the story is, on the face of it, so 
 vague and so improbable, that I was long opposed to its publica- 
 
150 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 tion. Within the last few days, however, I have had independent 
 testimony upon the subject which throws a new light upon it. 
 I had run down to Edinburgh to attend a meeting of the British 
 Medical Association, when I chanced to come across Dr. P 
 an old college chum of mine, now practicing at Saltash, in De- 
 vonshire. Upon my telling him of this experience of my son’s, 
 he declared to me that he was familiar with the man, and 
 proceeded, to my no small surprise, to give me a description 
 of him which tallied remarkably well with that given in the 
 journal, except that he depicted him as a younger man. Accord- 
 ing to his account, he had been engaged to a young lady of singular 
 beauty residing upon the Cornish coast. During his absence at 
 sea his betrothed had died under circumstances of peculiar horror.] 
 
 J. HABAKUK JEPHSON’S STATEMENT 
 
 In the month of December in the year 1873 the British 
 ship “Dei Gratia” steered into Gibraltar, having in tow 
 the derelict brigantine ‘‘Marie Celeste,” which had been 
 picked up in latitude 38° 40’, longitude 17° 15’ W. 
 There were several circumstances in connection with the 
 condition and appearance of this abandoned vessel which 
 excited considerable comment at the time, and aroused 
 a curiosity which has never been satisfied. What these 
 circumstances were was summed up in an able article 
 which appeared in the Gibralter “Gazette.” The curious 
 can find it in the issue for January 4, 1874, unless my 
 memory deceives me. For the benefit of those, how- 
 ever, who may be unable to refer to the paper in ques- 
 tion, I shall subjoin a few extracts which touch upon the 
 leading features of the case. 
 
 “We have ourselves,” says the anonymous writer in 
 the “Gazette,” “been over the derelict ‘Marie Celeste,’ 
 and have closely questioned the officers of the ‘Dei 
 Gratia’ on every point which might throw light on the 
 affair. They are of opinion that she had been aban-— 
 doned several days, or perhaps weeks, before being picked 
 up. The official log, which was found in the cabin, states 
 that the vessel sailed from Boston to Lisbon, starting 
 upon October 16. It is, however, most imperfectly kept, 
 and affords little information. There is no reference to 
 rough weather, and, indeed, the state of the vessel’s 
 
A STUDY™“IN SCARLET 151 
 
 paint and rigging excludes the idea that she was aban- 
 doned for any such reason. She is perfectly watertight. 
 No signs of a struggle or of violence are to be detected, 
 and there is absolutely nothing to account for the dis- 
 appearance of the crew. ‘There are several indications 
 that a lady was present on board, a sewing-machine being 
 found in the cabin and some articles of female attire. 
 These probably belonged to the captain’s wife, who is 
 mentioned in the log as having accompanied her husband. 
 As an instance of the mildness of the weather, it may 
 be remarked that a bobbin of silk was found standing 
 upon the sewing-machine, though the least roll of the 
 vessel would have precipitated it to the floor. The boats 
 were intact and slung upon the davits, and the cargo, 
 consisting of tallow and American clocks, was untouched. 
 An old-fashioned sword of curious workmanship was 
 discovered among some lumber in the forecastle, and 
 this weapon is said to exhibit a longitudinal striation on 
 the steel, as if it had been recently wiped. It had been 
 placed in the hands of the police, and submitted to Dr. 
 Monaghan, the analyst, for inspection. The result of his 
 examination has not yet been published. We may re- 
 mark, in conclusion, that Captain Dalton, of the “Dei 
 Gratia,’ an able and intelligent seaman, is of the opinion 
 that the ‘Marie Celeste’ may have been abandoned a con- 
 siderable distance from the spot at which she was picked 
 up, since a powerful current runs up in that latitude 
 from the African coast. He confesses his inability, how- 
 ever, to advance any hypothesis which can reconcile all 
 the facts of the case. In the utter absence of a clew or 
 grain of evidence, it is to be feared that the fate of the 
 crew of the ‘Marie Celeste’ will be added to those num- 
 erous mysteries of the deep which will never be solved 
 until the great day when the sea shall give up its dead. 
 If crime has been committed, as is much to be suspected, 
 there is little hope of bringing the perpetrators to justice.” 
 
 I shall supplement this extract from the Gibraltar 
 “Gazette” by quoting a telegram from Boston, which 
 went the round of the English papers, and represented 
 the total amount of information which had been col- 
 
152 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 lected about the “Marie Celeste.” ‘She was,” it said, | 
 “a brigantine of one hundred and seventy tons burden, — 
 
 and belonged to White, Russel & White, wine impor- 
 ters, of this city. Captain J. W. Tibbs was an old 
 servant of the firm, and was a man of known ability and 
 tried probity. He was accompanied by his wife, aged 
 thirty-one, and their youngest child, five years old. 
 The crew consisted of seven hands, including two colored 
 seamen and a boy. There were three passengers, one of 
 whom was the well-known Brooklyn specialist on con- 
 sumption, Dr. Habakuk Jephson, who was a distinguished 
 advocate for Abolition in the early days of the move- 
 ment, and whose pamphlet, entitled, ‘Where Is Thy 
 Brother exercised a strong influence on public opinion 
 before the war. The other passengers were Mr. J. 
 Harton, a writer in the employ of the firm, and Mr. 
 Septimius Goring, a half-caste gentleman, from New 
 Orleans. All investigations have failed to throw any 
 light upon the fate of these fourteen human beings. The 
 
 loss of Dr. Jephson will be felt both in political and 
 
 scientific circles.’’ 
 
 I have here epitomized, for the benefit of the public, 
 
 all that has been hitherto known concerning the “Marie 
 
 Celeste” and her crew, for the past ten years have not 
 
 in any way helped to elucidate the mystery. I have now 
 
 taken up my pen with the intention of telling all that I 
 know of the ill-fated voyage. I consider that it is a duty | 
 
 which I owe to society, for symptoms which I am familiar 
 with in others lead me to believe that before many months 
 my tongue and hand may be alike incapable of conveying 
 information. Let me remark, as a preface to my narra- 
 tive, that I am Joseph Habakuk Jephson, Doctor of 
 Medicine of the University of Harvard and ex-Consult- 
 ing Physician of the Samaritan Hospital of Brooklyn. 
 
 Many will doubtless wonder why I have not proclaimed 
 myself before, and why I have suffered so many conjec- 
 tures and surmises to pass unchallenged. Could the ends 
 of justice have been served in any way by my revealing 
 the facts in my possession I should unhesitatingly have 
 done so. It seemed to me, however, that there was no 
 
 ‘a 
 | 
 | 
 | 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 153 
 
 possibility of such a result, and when I attempted, after 
 the occurrence, to state my case to an English official, I 
 was met with such offensive incredulity that I determined 
 never again to expose myself to the chance of such an 
 indignity. I can excuse the discourtesy of the Liverpool 
 magistrate, however, when I reflect upon the treatment 
 which I received at the hands of my own relatives, who, 
 though they knew my unimpeachable character, listened 
 to my statement with an indulgent smile, as if humoring 
 the delusion of a monomanic. This slur upon my verac- 
 ity led to a quarrel between myself and John Vanbur- 
 ger, the brother of my wife, and confirmed me in my 
 resolution to let the matter sink into oblivion—a deter- 
 mination which I have only altered through my son’s 
 solicitations. In order to make my narrative intelligible, 
 I must run lightly over one or two incidents in my former 
 life which throw light upon subsequent events. 
 
 My father, William K. Jephson, was a preacher of 
 the sect called Plymouth Brethern, and was one of the 
 most respected citizens of Lowell. Like most of the 
 other Puritans of New England, he was a determined 
 opponent to slavery, and it was from his lips that I re- 
 ceived those lessons which tinged every action of my 
 life. While I was studying medicine at Harvard Uni- 
 versity I had already made a mark as an advanced 
 Abolitionist, and when, after taking my degree, I bought 
 a third share of the practice of Dr. Willis, of Brooklyn, 
 I managed, in spite of my professional duties, to devote 
 a considerable time to the cause which I had at heart, my 
 pamphlet, “Where Is Thy Brother?” (Swarburgh, Lister 
 & Co., 1859), attracting considerable attention. 
 
 When the war broke out I left Brooklyn and accom- 
 panied the One Hundred and Thirteenth New York 
 Regiment through the campaign. I was present at the 
 second battle of Bull Run and at the battle of Gettys- 
 burg. Finally, I was severely wounded at Antietam, and 
 would probably have perished on the field had it not been 
 for the kindness of a gentleman named Murray, who had 
 me carried to his house and provided me with every 
 comfort. Thanks to his charity, and to the nursing 
 
154 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 which I received from his black domestics, I was soon 
 able to get about the plantation with the help of a stick. 
 It was during this period of convalescence that an in= 
 cident occurred which is closely connected with my story, 
 
 Among the most assiduous of the negresses who had 
 watched my couch during my illness there was one old 
 crone who appeared to exert considerable authority over 
 the others. She was exceedingly attentive to me, and I 
 gathered from the few words that passed between us 
 that she had heard of me, and that she was grateful to 
 me for championing her oppressed race. | 
 
 One day as I was sitting alone in the veranda, bask- 
 ing in the sun and debating whether I should rejoin 
 Grant’s army, I was surprised to see this old creature 
 hobbling toward me. After looking cautiously around 
 to see that we were alone, she fumbled in the front of — 
 her dress and produced a small chamois leather bag 
 which was hung round her neck by a white cord. : 
 
 “Massa,” she said, bending down and croaking the 
 words into my ear, “me die soon. Me very old woman. 
 Not stay long on Massa Murray’s plantation.” | 
 
 “You may live a long time yet, Martha,’ I answered. 
 “You know I am a doctor. If you feel ill let me know — 
 about it, and I will try to cure you.” 7 
 
 “No wish to live—wish to die. [’m gwine to join the - 
 heavenly host.” Here she relapsed into one of those 
 half-heathenish thapsodies in which negroes indulge. 
 “But, massa, me have one thing must leave behind me 
 when I go. No able to take it with me across the Jordan. 
 That one thing very precious, more precious and more — 
 holy than all things else in the world. Me, a poor old 
 black woman, have this because my people very great 
 people, ‘spose they was back in the old country. But 
 you cannot understand this same as black folk could. 
 My fader give it to me, and his fader give it to him, but — 
 now who shall I give it to? Poor Martha hab no child, 
 no relation, nobody. All round I see black man very bad 
 man. Black woman very stupid woman. Nobody worthy 
 of the stone. «And so I say, Here is Massa Jephson, who 
 ‘writes books and fight for colored folk—he must be good — 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 155 
 
 man, and he shall have it, though he is white man and 
 can nebber know what it mean or where it came from.” 
 Here the old woman fumbled in the chamois leather bag 
 and pulled out a flattish black stone with a hole through 
 the middle of it. “Here take it,” she said, pressing it 
 into my hand; “take it. No harm nebber come from any- 
 thing good. Keep it safe—nebber lose it!’ and with a 
 warning gesture the old crone hobbled away in the same 
 cautious way as she had come, looking from side to side 
 to see if we had been observed. 
 
 I was more amused than impressed by the old wo- 
 man’s earnestness, and was only prevented from laugh- 
 ing during her oration by the fear of hurting her feel- 
 ings. When she was gone I took a good look at the 
 stone which she had given me. It was intensely black, 
 of extreme hardness, and oval in shape—just such a 
 flat stone as one would pick up on the seashore if one 
 wished to throw a long way. It was about three inches 
 long and an inch and a half broad at the middle, but 
 rounded off at the extremities. The most curious parts 
 about it were several well-marked ridges which ran in 
 semicircles over its surface, and gave it exactly the ap- 
 pearance of a human ear. Although I was rather in- 
 terested in my new possession, and determined to submit 
 it, as a geological specimen, to my friend Professor 
 Schroeder of the New York Institute, upon the earliest 
 opportunity. In the meantime I thrust it into my pocket, 
 and rising from my chair started off for a short stroll 
 in the shrubbery, dismissing the incident from my mind. 
 
 As my wound had nearly healed by this time I took 
 my leave of Mr. Murray shortly afterward. ‘lhe Union 
 armies were everywhere victorious and converging on 
 Richmond, so that my assistance seemed unnecessary, and 
 I returned to Brooklyn. There I resumed my practice, 
 and married the second daughter of Josiah Vanburger, 
 the well-known wood engraver. In the course of a few 
 years I built up a good connection and acquired con- 
 siderable reputation in the treatment of pulmonary com- 
 plaints. I still kept the old black stone in my pocket, 
 and frequently told the story of the dramatic way in 
 
156 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 my 
 which I had become possessed of it. I also kept my 
 resolution of showing it to Professor Schroeder, who 
 was much interested both by the anecdote and the speci-— 
 men. He pronounced it to be a piece of meteoric stone, | 
 and drew my attention to the fact that its resemblance 
 to an ear was not accidental, but that it was most care-— 
 fully worked into that shape. A dozen little anatomical — 
 points showed that the worker had been as accurate © 
 as he was skilful. “I should not wonder,” said the pro- © 
 fessor, “if it were broken off from some larger statue, — 
 though how such hard material could be so perfectly © 
 worked is more than I can understand. If there is a 
 statue to correspond I should like to see it!” So I 
 thought at the time, but I have changed my opinion since. © 
 The next seven or eight years of my life were quiet 
 and uneventful. Summer followed spring, and spring © 
 followed winter, without any variation in my duties. © 
 As the practice increased I admitted J. S. Jackson as © 
 partner, he to have one-fourth of the profits. The con-— 
 tinued strain had told upon my constitution, however, — 
 and I became at last so unwell that my wife insisted upon 
 my consulting Dr. Kavanagh Smith, who was my collea- — 
 gue at the Samaritan Hospital. That gentleman ex- © 
 amined me, and pronounced the apex of my left lung to © 
 be in a state of consolidation, recommending me at the © 
 same time to go through a course of medical treatment © 
 and to take a long sea voyage. i. 
 My own disposition, which is naturally restless, pre- — 
 disposed me strongly in favor of the latter piece of ad- — 
 vice, and the matter was clinched by my meeting young © 
 Russel, of the firm of White, Russel & White, who © 
 offered me a passage in one of his father’s ships, the — 
 “Marie Celeste,” which was just starting from Bos- © 
 ton. “She is a snug little ship,” he said, “and Tibbs, © 
 the captain, is an excellent fellow. There is nothing © 
 like a sailing ship for an invalid.” I was very much © 
 of the same opinion myself, so I closed with the offer on — 
 the spot. a 
 My original plan was that my wife should accompany ~ 
 me upon my travels. She has always been a very poor — 
 
 REX 
 
 Ea 3s pee 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 157 
 
 sailor, however, and there were strong family reasons 
 against her exposing herself to any risk at the time, so 
 we determined that she should remain at home. I am not 
 a religious or an effusive man, but, oh, thank God for 
 that! As to leaving my practice, I was easily reconciled 
 to it, as Jackson, my partner, was a reliable and hard- 
 working man. 
 
 I arrived in Boston on October 12, 1873, and pro- 
 ceeded immediately to the office of the firm in order to 
 thank them for their courtesy. As I was sitting in the 
 counting-house waiting until they should be at liberty 
 to see me, the words “Marie Celeste” suddenly attracted 
 my attention. I looked around and saw a tall, very gaunt 
 man, who was leaning across the polished mahogany 
 counter asking some questions of the clerk at the other 
 side. His face was turned half toward me, and I could 
 see that he had a strong dash of negro blood in him, being 
 probably a quadroon, or even nearer akin to the black. 
 His curved aquiline nose and straight, lank hair showed 
 the white strain; but the dark, restless eyes, sensuous 
 mouth and gleaming teeth all told of his African origin. 
 His complexion was of a sickly, unhealthy yellow, and 
 as his face was deeply pitted with smallpox, the general 
 impression was so unfavorable as to be almost revolting. 
 When he spoke, however, it was in a soft, melodious 
 voice, and in well-chosen words, and he was evidently a 
 man of some education. 
 
 “I wished to ask a few questions about the ‘Marie 
 Celeste,’ ” he repeated, leaning across to the clerk. “She 
 sails the day after to-morrow, does she not?” 
 
 “Yes, sir,’ said the young clerk, awed into unusual 
 politeness by the glimmer of a large diamond in the 
 stranger’s shirt front. 
 
 “Where is she bound for?” 
 
 “Lisbon.” 
 
 “How many of a crew?” 
 
 “Seven, sir.” 
 
 “Passengers ?” 
 
 “Yes, two; one of our young gentlemen and a doc- 
 tor from New York.” 
 
158 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “No gentleman from the South?” asked the stranger — 
 eagerly. a 
 “No, none, sir.” 
 “Ts there room for another passenger?” » 
 “Accommodation for three more,” answered the clerk. © 
 “T’ll go,” said the quadroon decisively; “Ill go; Vl 
 engage my passage at once. Put it down, will you— Mr. — 
 Septimius Goring, of New Orleans.” | 
 The clerk filled up a form and handed it over to the 
 stranger, pointing to a blank space at the bottom. As 
 Mr. Goring stooped over to sign it I was horrified to — 
 observe that the fingers of his right hand had been lopped | 
 off, and that he was holding the pen between his thumb 
 and the palm. I have seen thousands slain in battle, and 
 assisted at every conceivable surgical operation, but [I 
 cannot recall any sight which gave me such a thrill of 
 disgust as that great, brown, sponge-like hand, with the 
 single member protruding from it. He used it skillfully 
 enough, however, for, dashing off his signature, he nodded 
 to the clerk and strolled out of the office just as Mr. 
 White sent out word that he was ready to receive me. 
 I went down to the “Marie Celeste” that evening and — 
 looked over my berth, which was extremely comfortable, © 
 considering the small size of the vessel. Mr. Goring, 
 whom I had seen in the morning, was to have the one 
 next mine. Opposite was the captain’s cabin and a ~ 
 small berth for Mr. John Harton, a gentleman who was 
 going out in the interests of the firm. These little rooms 
 were arranged on each side of the passage which led 
 from the main deck to the saloon. The latter was a 
 comfortable room, the paneling tastefully done in oak 
 and mahogany, with a rich Brussels carpet and luxurious 
 settees. I was very much pleased with the accommoda- 
 tion, and also with Tibbs, the captain, a bluff, sailor-like 
 fellow, with a loud voice and hearty manner, who wel- 
 comed me to the ship with effusion, and insisted upon our 
 splitting a bottle of wine in his cabin. He told me that 
 he intended to take his wife and youngest child with him 
 on the voyage, and that he hoped with good luck to make © 
 Lisbon in three weeks. We had a pleasant chat and © 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 159 
 
 parted the best of friends, he warning me to make the last 
 of my preparations next morning, as he intended to make 
 a start by the midday tide, having now shipped all his 
 cargo. I went back to my ‘hotel, where I found a letter 
 from my wife awaiting me, and, after a refreshing 
 night’s sleep, returned to the boat in the morning. From 
 this point I am able to quote from the journal which I kept 
 in order to vary the monotony of the long sea voyage. 
 If it is somewhat bald in places I can at least rely upon 
 its accuracy in details, as it was written conscientiously 
 from day to day. 
 
 October 16.—Cast off our warps at half-past two and 
 were towed out into the bay, where the tug left us, and 
 with all sail set we bowled along at about nine knots 
 an hour. I stood upon the poop watching the low land 
 of America sinking gradually upon the horizon until the 
 evening haze hid it from my sight. A single red light, 
 however, continued to blaze balefully behind us, throw- 
 ing a long track like a trail of blood upon the water, and 
 it is still visible as I write, though reduced to a mere 
 speck. The captain is in a bad humor, for two of his 
 hands disappointed him at the last moment, and he was 
 compelled to ship a couple of negroes who happened to 
 be on the quay. The missing men were steady, reliable 
 fellows, who had been with him several voyages, and 
 their non-appearance puzzled as well as irritated him. 
 Where a crew of seven men have to work a fair sized 
 ship the loss of two experienced seamen is a serious one, 
 for though the negroes may take a spell at the wheel or 
 swab the decks, they are of little or no use in rough 
 weather. Our cook is also a black man, and Mr. Septi- 
 mius Goring has a little darky servant, so that we are 
 rather a piebald community. The accountant, John Har- 
 ton, promises to be an acquisition, for he is a cheery, 
 amusing young fellow. Strange how little wealth has to 
 do with happiness! He has all the world before him 
 and is seeking his fortune in a far land, yet he is as 
 transparently happy as a man can be. Goring is rich, 
 if I am not mistaken, and so am J; but I know that I 
 have a lung, and Goring has some "deeper trouble still, 
 
160 A STUDY IN SCARLET 1: 
 to judge by his features. How poorly do we both con- F 
 trast with the careless, penniless clerk! i 
 October 17—Mrs. Tibbs appeared upon deck for the © 
 first time this morning—a cheerful, energetic woman, — 
 with a dear little child just able to walk and prattle. 
 Young Harton pounced on it at once and carried it away 
 to his cabin, where no doubt he will lay the seeds of © 
 future dyspepsia in the child’s stomach. Thus medicine 
 doth make cynics of us all! The weather is still all that 
 could be desired, with a fine, fresh breeze from the west- 
 sou’'west. The vessel goes so steadily that you would 
 hardly know that she was moving were it not for the 
 creaking of the cordage, the bellying of the sails and the 
 long white furrow in our wake. Walked the quarter- 
 deck all the morning with the captain, and I think the ~ 
 keen fresh air has already done my breathing good, for — 
 the exercise did not fatigue me in any way. Tibbs is a — 
 remarkably intelligent man, and we had an interesting — 
 argument about Maury’s observations on ocean currents, © 
 which we terminated by going down into his cabin to 
 consult the original work. There we found Goring, © 
 rather to the captain’s surprise, as it is not usual for 
 passengers to enter that sanctum unless specially invited. 
 He apologized for his intrusion, however, pleading his— 
 ignorance of the usages of ship life, and the good natured 
 sailor simply laughed at the incident, begging him to re- 
 main and favor us with his company. Goring pointed — 
 to the chronometers, the case of which he had opened, 
 and remarked that he had been admiring them. He has 
 evidently some practical knowledge of mathematical 
 instruments, as he told at a glance which was the most 
 trustworthy of the three, and also named their price with- — 
 in a few dollars. He had a discussion with the captain, 
 too, upon the variation of the compass, and when we — 
 came back to the ocean currents he showed a thorough | 
 grasp of the subject. Altogether he rather improves 
 upon acquaintance, and is a man of decided culture and — 
 refinement. His voice harmonizes with his conversation, — 
 and both are the very antitheses of his face and figure. 
 The noonday observation shows that we have run two ~ 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 161 
 
 hundred and twenty miles. Toward evening the breeze 
 freshened up, and the first mate ordered reefs to be taken 
 in the topsails and top-gallant sails in expectation of a 
 windy night. I observe that the barometer has fallen to 
 twenty-nine. I trust our voyage will not be a rough one, 
 as | am a poor sailor and my health would probably 
 derive more harm than good from a stormy trip, though 
 I have the greatest confidence in the captain’s seaman- 
 ship and in the soundness of the vessel. Played crib- 
 bage with Mrs. Tibbs after supper, and Harton gave us 
 a couple of tunes on the violin. 
 
 October 18—The gloomy prognostications of last 
 night were not fulfilled, as the wind died away again, and 
 we are lying now in a long, greasy swell, ruffled here 
 and there by a fleeting catspaw which is insufficient to 
 fill the sails. The air is colder than it was yesterday, 
 and I have put on one of the thick woollen jerseys which 
 my wife knitted for me. Harton came into my cabin in 
 the morning, and we had a cigar together. He says that 
 he remembers having seen Goring in Cleveland, Ohio, in 
 69. He was, it appears, a mystery then as now, wan- 
 dering about without any visible employment, and ex- 
 tremely reticent on his own affairs. The man interests 
 me as a psychological study. At breakfast this morning 
 I suddenly had that vague feeling of uneasiness which 
 comes over some people when closely stared at, and, 
 looking quickly up, I met his eyes bent up me with an 
 intensity which amounted to ferocity, though their ex- 
 pression instantly softened as he made some conven- 
 tional remark upon the weather. Curiously enough, 
 Harton says that he had a very similar experience yes- 
 terday upon deck. I observe that Goring frequently talks 
 to the colored seamen as he strolls about—a trait which 
 I rather admire, as it is common to find half-breeds ig- 
 nore their dark strain and treat their black kinsfolk with 
 greater intolerance than a white man would do. His 
 little page is devoted to him, apparently, which speaks 
 well for his treatment of him. Altogether the man is 
 a curious mixture of incongruous qualities, and unless 
 
162 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 I am deceived in him will give me food for observation 
 during the voyage. q 
 
 The captain is grumbling about his chronometers, which - 
 do not register exactly the same time. He says 1t 1s the 
 first time that they have ever disagreed. We were un- 
 able to get a noonday observation on account of the haze. 
 By dead reckoning we have done about a hundred and 
 seventy miles in the twenty-four hours. The dark seamen 
 have proved, as the skipper prophesied, to be very inferior 
 hands, but as they can both manage the wheel well they 
 are kept steering, and so leave the more experienced men 
 to work the ship. These details are trivial enough, but 
 a little thing serves as food for gossip aboard ship. The 
 appearance of a whale in the evening caused quite a flutter 
 among us. From its sharp back and forked tail I should 
 pronounce it to have been a rorqual, or “finner,”’ as they 
 are called by the fishermen. 
 
 October 19.—Wind was cold, so I prudently remained 
 in my cabin all day, only creeping out for dinner. Lying © 
 in my bunk I can, without moving, reach my books, pipes, — 
 or anything else I may want, which is one advantage of a 
 small apartment. My old wound began to ache a little to- 
 day, probably from the cold. Read “Montaigne’s Es- — 
 says” and nursed myself. Harton came in in the after- © 
 noon with Doddy, the captain’s child, and the skipper him- 
 self followed, so that I held quite a reception. 
 
 October 20 and 21.—Still cold, with a continual drizzle 
 of rain, and I have not been able to leave the cabin. 
 This confinement makes me feel weak and depressed. 
 Goring came in to see me, but his company did not tend 
 to cheer me up much, as he hardly uttered a word, but 
 contented himself with staring at me in a peculiar and 
 rather irritating manner. He then got up and stole out 
 of the cabin without saying anything. I am beginning to 
 suspect that the man is a lunatic. I think I mentioned that 
 his cabin is next to mine. The two are simply divided 
 by a thin wooden partition which is cracked in many 
 places, some of the cracks being so large that I can hardly 
 avoid, as I lie in my bunk, observing his motions in the 
 adjoining room. Without any wish to play the spy, I see 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 163 
 
 him continually stooping over what appears to be a chart 
 and working with a pencil and compass. I have remarked 
 the interest he displays in matters connected with naviga- 
 tion, but I am surprised that he should take the trouble to 
 work out the course of the ship. However, it is a harm- 
 less amusement enough, and no doubt he verifies his re- 
 sults by those of the captain. 
 
 I wish the man did not run in my thoughts so much. 
 I had a nightmare on the 20th, in which I thought my bunk 
 was a coffin, that I was laid out in it, and that Goring was 
 endeavoring to nail up the lid, which I was frantically 
 pushing away. Even when I woke up I could hardly 
 persuade myself that I was not ina coffin. As a medical 
 man I know that a nightmare is simply a vascular de- 
 rangement of the cerebral hemispheres, and yet in my 
 weak state I cannot shake off the morbid impression which 
 it produces. 
 
 October 22.—A fine day, with hardly a cloud in the sky, 
 and a fresh breeze from the sou’west which wafts us gayly 
 on our way. There has evidently been some heavy weather 
 near us, as there is a tremendous swell on, and the ship 
 lurches until the end of the foreyard nearly touches the 
 water. Had a refreshing walk up and down the quarter- 
 deck, though I have hardly found my sea-legs yet. Sev- 
 eral small birds—chaffinches, I think—perched in the 
 rigging. 
 
 4.40 P. M.—While I was on deck this morning I heard 
 a sudden explosion from the direction of my cabin, and, 
 hurrying down, found that I had very nearly met with a 
 serious accident. Goring was cleaning a revolver, it 
 seems, in his cabin, when one of the barrels which he 
 thought was unloaded went off. The ball passed through 
 the side partition and imbedded itself in the bulwarks 
 in the exact place where my head usually rests. I have 
 been under fire too often to magnify trifles, but there is 
 no doubt if I had been in the bunk it must have killed me. 
 Goring, poor fellow, did not know that I had gone on 
 deck that day, and must therefore have felt terribly fright- 
 ened. I never saw such emotion in a man’s face as when, 
 on rushing out of his cabin with the smoking pistol in 
 
164 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 his hand, he met me face to face as I came down from. 
 the deck. Of course he was profuse in his apologies, 
 though I simply laughed at the incident. fs 
 11 P. MA misfortune has occurred so unexpected 
 and so horrible that my little escape of the morning 
 dwindles into insignificance. Mrs. Tibbs and her child 
 have disappeared—utterly and entirely disappeared. I 
 can hardly compose myself to write the sad details. About 
 half-past eight Tibbs rushed into my cabin with a very 
 white face and asked me if I had seen his wife. I an-— 
 swered that I had not. He then ran wildly into the 
 saloon and began groping about for any trace of her, 
 while I followed him, endeavoring vainly to persuade 
 him that his fears were ridiculous. We hunted over the 
 ship for an hour and a half without coming on any sign 
 of the missing woman or child. Poor Tibbs lost his voice 
 completely from calling her name. Even the sailors, who 
 are generally stolid enough, were deeply affected by the 
 sight of him as he roamed bareheaded and disheveled 
 about the deck, searching with feverish anxiety the most 
 impossible places, and returning to them again and again 
 with a piteous pertinacity. The last time she was seen 
 was about seven o’clock, when she took Doddy on the 
 poop to give him a breath of fresh air before putting 
 him to bed. There was no one there at the time except © 
 the black seaman at the wheel, who denies having seen 
 her at all. The whole affair is wrapped i in mystery. My 
 own theory is that while Mrs. Tibbs was holding the 
 child and standing near the bulwarks it gave a spring 
 and fell overboard, and that in her convulsive attempt 
 to catch or save it, she followed it. I cannot account 
 for the double disappearance in any other way. It is quite 
 feasible that such a tragedy should be enacted without 
 the knowledge of the man at the wheel, since it was dark 
 at the time, and the peaked skylights of the saloon screen 
 the greater part of the quarter-deck. Whatever the truth 
 may be it is a horrible catastrophe, and has cast the dark- 
 est gloom upon our voyage. The mate has put the ship 
 about, but of course there is not the slightest hope of | 
 picking them up. The captain is lying in a state of stupor 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 165 
 
 in his cabin. I gave him a powerful dose of opium in 
 his coffee, that for a few hours at least his anguish may 
 be deadened. 
 
 October 23.—Woke with a vague feeling of heaviness 
 and misfortune, but it was not until after a few moments’ 
 reflection that I was able to recall our loss of the night 
 before. When I came on deck I saw the poor skipper 
 standing gazing .back at the waste of waters behind us, 
 which contains everything dear to him upon earth. I 
 attempted to speak to him, but he turned brusquely away, 
 and began pacing the deck with his head sunk upon his 
 breast. Even now, when the truth is so clear, he cannot 
 : a boat or an unbent sail without peering under it. 
 
 e looks ten years older than he did yesterday morning. 
 Harton is terribly cut up, for he was fond of little Doddy, 
 and Goring seems sorry, too. At least he has shut himself 
 up in his cabin all day, and when I got a casual glance at 
 him his head was resting on his two hands, as if ina 
 melancholy reverie. I fear we are about as dismal a crew 
 as ever sailed. How shocked my wife will be to hear of 
 our disaster! The swell has gone down now, and we are 
 doing about eight knots with all sail set and a nice little 
 breeze. Hyson is practically in command of the ship, as 
 Tibbs, though he does his best to bear up and keep a brave 
 front, is incapable of applying himself to serious work. 
 
 October 24.—Is the ship accursed? Was there ever 
 a voyage which began so fairly and which changed so 
 disastrously? ‘Tibbs shot himself through the head during 
 the night! I was awakened about three o’clock in the 
 morning by an explosion, and immediately sprang out of 
 bed and rushed into the captain’s cabin to find out the 
 cause, though with a terrible presentiment in my heart. 
 Quickly as I went, Goring went more quickly still, for 
 he was already in the cabin stooping over the dead body 
 of the captain. It was a hideous sight, for the whole 
 front of his face was blown in, and the little room was 
 Swimming in blood. The pistol was lying beside him on 
 the floor, just as it had dropped from his hand. He had 
 evidently put it to his mouth before pulling the trigger. 
 Goring and I picked him reverently up and laid him on 
 
166 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 his bed. The crew had all clustered into his cabin, and 
 the six white men were deeply grieved, for they were 
 old hands who had sailed with him many years. There 
 were dark looks and murmurs among them, too, and one 
 of them openly declared that the ship was haunted. Har- 
 ton helped to lay the poor skipper out, and we did him 
 up in canvas between us. At twelve o'clock the fore- 
 yard was hauled aback, and we committed his body to 
 the deep, Goring reading the Church of England burial 
 service. The breeze has freshened up, and we have done 
 ten knots all day and sometimes twelve. The sooner we 
 reach Lisbon and get away from this accursed ship the 
 better pleased shall I be. I feel as though we were in 
 a floating coffin. Little wonder that the poor sailors are 
 superstitious when I, an educated man, feel it so strongly. 
 
 October 25.—Made a good run all day. Feel listless 
 and depressed. 
 
 October 26.—Goring, Harton and I had a chat to- 
 gether on the deck this morning. Harton tried to draw 
 Goring out as to his profession and his object in going 
 to Europe, but the quadroon parried all his questions and 
 gave us no information. Indeed, he seemed to be slightly 
 offended by Harton’s pertinacity, and went down into his 
 cabin. I wonder why we should both take such an interest 
 in this man! I suppose it is his striking appearance, 
 coupled with his apparent wealth, which piques our cu- 
 riosity. Harton has a theory that he is really a detective, 
 that he is after some criminal who has got away to Por- 
 tugal, and that he chooses this peculiar way of traveling. 
 that he may arrive unnoticed and pounce upon his quarry 
 unawares. I think the supposition is rather a far-fetched 
 one, but Harton bases it upon a book which Goring left 
 on deck, and which he picked up and glanced over. It 
 was a sort of scrap-book, it seems, and contained a large 
 number of newspaper cuttings. All these cuttings related 
 to murders which had been committed at various times 
 in the States during the last twenty years or so. The 
 curious thing which Harton observed about them, how- 
 ever, was that they were invariably murders the authors 
 of which had never been brought to justice. They varied 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 167; 
 
 in every detail, he says, as to the manner of execution 
 and the social status of the victim, but they uniformly 
 wound up with the same formula that the murderer was 
 still at large, though, of course, the police had every rea- 
 son to expect his speedy capture. Certainly the incident 
 seems to support Harton’s theory, though it may be a 
 mere whim of Goring’s, or, as I suggested to Harton, 
 he may be collecting materials for a book which shall 
 outvie De Quincey. In any case it is no business of ours. 
 
 October 27, 28.—Wind still fair, and we are making 
 good progress. Strange how easily a human unit may 
 drop out of its place and be forgotten! ‘Tibbs is hardly 
 ever mentioned now; Hyson has taken possession of his 
 cabin, and all goes on as before. Were it not for Mrs. 
 Tibbs’ sewing-machine upon a side table we might forget 
 that the unfortunate family had ever existed. Another 
 accident occurred on board to-day, though fortunately 
 not a very serious one. One of our white hands had 
 gone down the after-hold to fetch a spare coil of rope, 
 when one of the hatches which he had removed came 
 crashing down on the top of him. He saved his life by 
 springing out of the way, but one of his feet was terribly 
 crushed, and he will be of little use for the remainder of 
 the voyage. He attributes the accident to the carelessness 
 of his negro companion, who had helped him to shift the 
 hatches. The latter, however, puts it down to the roll of 
 the ship. Whatever the cause, it reduces our short-handed 
 crew still further. This run of ill-luck seems to be de- 
 pressing Harton, for he has lost his usual good spirits and 
 joviality. Goring is the only one who preserves his cheer- 
 fulness. I see him still working at his chart in his own 
 cabin. His nautical knowledge would be useful should 
 anything happen to Hyson—which God forbid! 
 
 October 29, 30.—Still bowling along with a fresh 
 breeze. All quiet and nothing of note to chronicle. 
 
 _ October 31—My weak lungs, combined with the ex- 
 citing episodes of the voyage, have shaken my nervous 
 system so much that the most trivial incident affects me. 
 I can hardly believe that I am the same man who tied 
 the external iliac artery, an operation requiring the nicest 
 
168 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 precision, under a heavy rifle fire at Antietam. I am as © 
 nervous as a child. I was lying half dozing last night — 
 about four bells in the middle watch, trying in vain to — 
 drop into a refreshing sleep. There was no light inside — 
 my cabin, but a single ray of moonlight streamed in © 
 through the porthole, throwing a silvery, flickering circle — 
 upon the door. As I lay I kept my drowsy eyes upon — 
 this circle, and was conscious that it was gradually be-— 
 coming less well defined as my senses left me, when I 
 was suddenly recalled to full wakefulness by the appear- — 
 ance of a small dark object in the very center of the © 
 luminous disk. I lay quietly and breathlessly watching it. — 
 Gradually it grew plainer and larger, and then I perceived 
 that it was a human hand which had been cautiously in- — 
 serted through the chink of the half-closed door—a hand — 
 which, as I observed with a thrill of horror, was not pro- — 
 vided with fingers. The door swung cautiously backward — 
 
 and Goring’s head followed his hand. It appeared in the 
 center of the moonlight, and was framed, as it were, in a 
 
 ghastly, uncertain halo, against which his features showed 
 out plainly. It seemed to me that I had never seen such © 
 an utterly fiendish and merciless expression upon a human © 
 face. His eyes were dilated and glaring, his lips drawn — 
 back so as to show his white fangs, and his straight © 
 
 black hair appeared to bristle over his low forehead like 
 the hood of a cobra. The sudden and noiseless appari- 
 
 tion had such an effect upon me that I sprang up in bed 
 
 trembling in every limb, and held out my hand toward my — 
 revolver. I was heartily ashamed of my hastiness when — 
 he explained the object of his intrusion, as he immediately © 
 
 did in the most courteous language. He had been suffer- 
 
 ing from toothache, poor fellow! and had come in to — 
 
 beg some laudanum, knowing that I possessed a medicine 
 chest. As to a sinister expression, he is never a beauty, 
 and what with my state of nervous tension and the effect 
 
 of the shifting moonlight it was easy to conjure up some- | 
 
 thing horrible. 1 gave him twenty drops, and he went 
 off again with many expressions of gratitude. I can 
 hardly say how much this trivial incident affected me; 
 I have felt unstrung all day. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 169 
 
 A week’s record of our voyage is here omitted, as noth- 
 ing eventful occurred during the time, and my log con- 
 sists merely of a few pages of unimportant gossip. 
 
 November 7.—Harton and [I sat on the poop all the 
 morning, for the weather is becoming very warm as we 
 come into southern latitudes. We reckon that we have 
 done two-thirds of our voyage. How glad we shail be to 
 see the green banks of the Tagus, and leave this unlucky 
 ship forever! 1 was endeavoring to amuse Harton to-day, 
 and to while away the time by telling him some of the ex- 
 periences of my past life. Among others I related to him 
 how I came into the possession of my black stone, and as 
 a finale I rummaged in the side pocket of my old shoot- 
 ing coat and finally produced the identical object in ques- 
 tion. He and I were bending over it together, I pointing 
 out to him the curious ridges upon its surface, when we 
 were conscious of a shadow falling between us and the 
 sun, and looking round saw Goring standing behind us 
 glaring over our shoulders at the stone. For some reason 
 or other he appeared to be powerfully excited, though 
 he was evidently trying to control himself and to conceal 
 his emotion. He pointed once or twice at my relic with 
 his stubby thumb before he could recover himself suffi- 
 ciently to ask what it was and how I obtained it—a ques- 
 tion put in such a brusque manner that I should have 
 been offended had I not known the man to be an eccen- 
 tric. I told him the story very much as I had told it to 
 Harton. He listened with the deepest interest, and then 
 asked me if I had any idea what the stone was. I said 
 I had not, beyond that it was meteoric. He asked me if 
 I had ever tried its effect upon a negro. I said I had not. 
 “Come,” said he, “‘we’ll see what our black friend at the 
 wheel thinks of it.” He took the stone in his hand and 
 went across to the sailor, and the two examined it care- 
 fully. I could see the man gesticulating and nodding his 
 head excitedly, as if making some assertion, while his face 
 betrayed the utmost astonishment, mixed, I think, with 
 some reverence. Goring came across the deck to us pres- 
 ently, still holding the stone in his hand. “He says it is 
 a worthless, useless thing,” he said, “and fit only to be 
 
170 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 chucked overboard,” with which he raised his hand and 
 would most certainly made an end of my relic had the 
 black sailor behind him not rushed forward and seized 
 him by the wrist. Finding himself secured, Goring 
 dropped the stone and turned away with a very bad grace 
 to avoid my angry remonstrances at his breach of faith. 
 The black picked up the stone and handed it to me with 
 a low bow and every sign of profound respect. The 
 whole affair is inexplicable. I am rapidly coming to the 
 conclusion that Goring is a maniac, or something very 
 near one. When I compare the effect produced by the 
 stone upon the sailor, however, with the respect shown 
 to Martha on the plantation, and the surprise of Goring 
 on its first production, I cannot but come to the conclusion 
 that I have really got hold of some powerful talisman 
 which appeals to the whole dark race. I must not trust 
 it in Goring’s hands again. 
 
 November 8, 9.—What splendid weather we are hav- | 
 ing. Beyond one little blow we have had nothing but 
 fresh breezes the whole voyage. These two days we have 
 made better runs than any hitherto. It is a pretty thing 
 to watch the spray fly up from our prow as it cuts through 
 the waves. The sun shines through it and breaks it up 
 into a number of miniature rainbows—“sun-dogs,” the 
 sailors call them. I stood on the fo’csle-head for several 
 hours to-day watching the effect, and surrounded by a 
 halo of prismatic colors. The steersman had evidently 
 told the other blacks about my wonderful stone, for I am 
 treated by them all with the greatest respect. Talking 
 about optical phenomena, we had a curious one yesterday 
 evening which was pointed out to me by Hyson. This was 
 the appearance of a triangular, well-defined object high 
 up in the heavens to the north of us. He explained that 
 it was exactly like the Peak of Teneriffe as seen from a 
 great distance—the peak was, however, at that moment 
 at least five hundred miles to the south. It may have 
 been a cloud, or it may have been one of those strange 
 reflections of which one reads. The weather is very 
 warm. ‘The mate says that he never knew it so warm in 
 these latitudes. Played chess with Harton in the evening. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 171 
 
 November 10.—It is getting warmer and warmer. 
 Some land birds came and perched in the rigging to-day, 
 though we are still a considerable way from our destina- 
 tion. The heat is so great that we are too lazy to do 
 anything but lounge about the decks and smoke. Goring 
 came over to me to-day and asked me some more ques- 
 tions about my stone, but I answered him rather shortly, 
 for I have not quite forgiven him yet for the cool way 
 in which he attempted to deprive me of it. 
 
 November 11, 12.—Still making good progress. I had 
 no idea Portugal was ever as hot as this, but no doubt 
 it is cooler on land. Hyson himself seemed surprised at 
 it, and so do the men. 
 
 November 13.—A most extraordinary event has hap- 
 pened—so extraordinary as to be almost inexplicable. 
 Either Hyson has blundered wonderfully, or some mag- 
 
 “netic influence has disturbed our instruments. Just about 
 daylight the watch on the fo’csle-head shouted out that 
 he heard the sound of surf ahead, and Hyson thought he 
 saw the loom of land. The ship was put about, and, 
 though no lights were seen, none of us doubted that we 
 had struck the Portuguese coast a little sooner than we had 
 expected. What was our surprise to see the scene which 
 was revealed to us at- break of day! As far as we could 
 look on either side was one long line of surf, great green 
 billows rolling in and breaking into a cloud of foam. 
 But behind the surf what was there! Not the green 
 banks nor the high cliffs of the shores of Portugal, but 
 a great sandy waste which stretched away and away until 
 it blended with the sky-line. To right and left, look where 
 you would, there was nothing but yellow sand, heaped in 
 some places into fantastic mounds, some of them several 
 hundred feet high, while in other parts were long stretches 
 as level, apparently, as a billiard-board. Harton and I, 
 who had come on deck together, looked at each other in 
 astonishment, and Harton burst out laughing. Hyson is 
 exceedingly mortified at the occurrence, and protests that 
 the instruments have been tampered with. There is no 
 doubt that this is the mainland of Africa, and that it 
 was really the Peak of Teneriffe which we saw some 
 
172 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 days ago upon the northern horizon. At the time when we 
 saw the land birds we must have been passing some of the 
 Canary Islands. If we continued on the same course 
 we are now to the north of Cape Blanco, near the un-— 
 explored country which skirts the great Sahara. All we 
 can do is to rectify our instruments as far as possible and — 
 start afresh for our destination. 
 8.30 P. M.—Have been lying in a calm all day. The 
 coast is now about a mile and a half from us. Hyson 
 has examined the instruments, but cannot find any cause 
 for their extraordinary deviation. | 
 This is the end of my private journal, and I must make © 
 the remainder of my statement from memory. There is - 
 little chance of my being mistaken about facts which have > 
 seared themselves into my recollection. That very night | 
 the storm which had been brewing so long burst over us, 
 and I came to learn whither all those little incidents were 
 tending which I had recorded so aimlessly. Blind fool that 
 I was not to have seen it sooner! I shall tell what oc- 
 curred as precisely as I can. | 
 I had gone into my cabin about half-past eleven, and 
 was preparing to go to bed, when a tap came at my door. © 
 ‘On opening it I saw Goring’s little black page, who told 
 me that his master would like to have a word with me 
 on deck. I was rather surprised that he should want me 
 at such a. late hour, but I went up without hesitation. I 
 had hardly put my foot on the quarter-deck before I was 
 seized from behind, dragged down upon my back, and a 
 handkerchief slipped round my mouth. I struggled as 
 hard as I could, but a coil of rope was rapidly and firmly 
 wound round me, and I found myself lashed to the davit 
 of one of the boats, uterly powerless to do or say any- 
 thing, while the point of a knife pressed to my throat 
 warned me to cease my struggles. The night was so dark 
 that I had been unable hitherto to recognize my assailants, 
 but as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and the 
 moon broke out through the clouds that obscured it, I 
 made out that I was surrounded by the two negro sailors, 
 the black cook, and my fellow-passenger, Goring. An- 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 173 
 
 other man was crouching on the deck at my foot, but he 
 was in the shadow and I could not recognize him. 
 
 All this occurred so rapidly that a minute could hardly 
 have elapsed from the time 1 mounted the companion un- 
 til I found myself gagged and powerless. It was so 
 sudden that I could scarce bring myself to realize it, or 
 to comprehend what it all meant. I heard the gang round 
 me speaking in short, fierce whispers to each other, and 
 some instinct told me that my life was the question at 
 issue. Goring spoke authoritatively and angrily—the 
 others doggedly and all together, as if disputing his com- 
 mands. Then they moved away in a body to the oppo- 
 site side of the deck, where I could still hear them whis- 
 pering, though they were concealed from my view by 
 the saloon skylights. 
 
 All this time the voices of the watch on deck chatting 
 and laughing at the other end of the ship were distinctly 
 audible, and I could see them gathered in a group, little 
 dreaming of the dark doings which were going on within 
 thirty yards of them. Oh! that I could have given them 
 one word of warning, even though I had lost my life 
 in doing it; but it was impossible. The moon was shin- 
 ing fitfully through the scattered clouds, and I could see 
 the silvery gleam of the surge, and beyond it the vast, 
 weird desert with its fantastic sand-hills. Glancing 
 down, I saw that the man who had been crouching on 
 the deck was still lying there, and as I gazed at him a 
 flickering ray of moonlight fell full upon his upturned 
 face. Great heaven! even now, when more than twelve 
 years have elapsed, my hand trembles as I write that, in 
 spite of distorted features and projecting eyes, I recog- 
 nized the face of Harton, the cheery young clerk who had 
 been my companion during the voyage. It needed no 
 medical eye to see that he was quite dead, while the 
 twisted handkerchief round the neck and the gag in his 
 mouth showed the silent way in which the hell-hounds 
 had done their work. The clue which explained every 
 event of our voyage came upon me like a flash of light 
 as I gazed on poor Harton’s corpse. Much was dark and 
 
174 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 unexplained, but I felt a great dim perception of the 
 truth. 
 
 I heard the striking of a match at the other side of the 
 skylight, and then I saw the tall, gaunt figure of Goring 
 standing up on the bulwarks and holding in his hands 
 what appeared to be a dark-lantern. He lowered this 
 for a moment over the side of the ship, and, to my in- 
 expressible astonishment, I saw it answered instantan- 
 eously by a flash among the sand-hills on the shore, which 
 came and went so rapidly that unless I had been following 
 the direction of Goring’s gaze I should never have detected 
 it. Again he lowered the lantern, and again it was an- 
 swered from the shore. He then stepped down from the 
 bulwarks, and in doing so slipped, making such a noise 
 that for a moment my heart bounded with the thought 
 that the attention of the watch would be directed to his 
 proceedings. It was a vain hope. The night was calm 
 and the ship motionless, so that no idea of duty kept them 
 vigilant. Hyson, who after the death of Tibbs was in 
 command of both watches, had gone below to snatch a 
 few hours’ sleep, and the boatswain who was left in charge 
 was standing with the other two men at the foot of the 
 foremast. Powerless, speechless, with the cords cutting 
 into my flesh and the murdered man at my feet, I awaited 
 the next act in the tragedy. 
 
 The four ruffans were standing up now at the other 
 side of the deck. The cook was armed with some sort 
 of a cleaver, the others had knives, and Goring had a 
 revolver. They were all leaning against the rail and look- 
 ing out over the water as if watching for something. I 
 saw one of them grasp another’s arm and point as if at 
 some object, and following the direction I made out the 
 loom of a large moving mass making toward the ship. 
 As it emerged from the gloom I saw that it was a great 
 canoe crammed with men and propelled by at least a 
 score of paddles. As it shot under our stern the watch 
 caught sight of it also, and raising a cry hurried aft. They 
 were too late, however. A swarm of gigantic negroes 
 clambered over the quarter, and, led by Goring, swept 
 down the deck in an irresistible torrent. All opposition 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 175 
 
 was overpowered in a moment, the unarmed watch were 
 knocked over and bound, and the sleepers dragged out 
 of their bunks and secured in the same manner. Hyson 
 made an attempt to defend the narrow passage leading 
 to his cabin, and I heard a scuffle, and his voice shouting 
 for assistance. ‘There was none to assist, however, and 
 he was brought onto the poop with the blood streaming 
 from a deep cut in his forehead. He was gagged like 
 the others, and a council was held upon our fate by the 
 negroes. I saw our black seamen pointing toward me 
 and making some statement, which was received with 
 murmurs of astonishment and incredulity by the savages. 
 One of them came over to me, and plunging his hand 
 into my pocket took out my black stone and held it up. 
 He then handed it to a man who appeared to be a chief, 
 who examined it as minutely as the light would permit, 
 and, muttering a few words, passed it on to the warrior 
 beside him, who also scrutinized it and passed it on, until 
 it had gone from hand to hand round the whole circle. 
 The chief then said a few words to Goring in the native 
 tongue, on which the quadroon addressed me in English. 
 At this moment I seem to see the scene. The tall masts 
 of the ship with the moonlight streaming down, silvering 
 the yards and bringing the network of cordage into hard 
 relief; the group of dusky warriors leaning on their 
 spears; the dead man at my feet; the line of white-faced 
 prisoners, and in front of me the loathsome half-breed, 
 looking, in his white linen and elegant clothes, a strange 
 contrast to his associates. 
 
 “You will bear me witness,” he said in his softest 
 accents, “that I am no party to sparing your life. If it 
 rested with me you would die as these other men are 
 about to do. I have no personal grudge against either 
 you or them, but I have devoted my life to the destruction 
 of the white race, and you are the first that has ever 
 been in my power and has escaped me. You may thank 
 that stone of yours for your life. These poor fellows 
 reverence it, and, indeed, if it really be what they think 
 it is, they have cause. Should it prove when we get ashore 
 that they are mistaken, and that its shape and material 
 
176 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 ST PD 
 
 is a mere chance, nothing can save your life. In the 
 meantime we wish to treat you well, so if there are any of 
 
 * 
 ; 
 Pin 
 ix 
 
 et 
 
 ci 
 
 Mi 
 is 
 £ 
 
 igh 
 A 
 
 your possessions which you would like to take with you, 
 
 you are at liberty to get them.” As he finished he gave © 
 a sign, and a couple of the negroes unbound me, though © 
 without removing the gag. I was led down into the cabin, — 
 where I put a few valuables into my pockets, together — 
 with a pocket-compass and my journal of the voyage. — 
 They then pushed me over the side into a small canoe, ~ 
 which was lying beside the large one, and my guards fol- © 
 lowed me, and shoving off began paddling for the shore. — 
 We had got about a hundred yards or so from the ship © 
 when our steersman held up his hand, and the paddlers — 
 paused for a moment and listened. Then on the silence © 
 of the night I heard a sort of dull, moaning sound, fol- — 
 lowed by a succession of splashes in the water. That is — 
 all I know of the fate of my poor shipmates. Almost — 
 immediately afterward the large canoe followed us, and © 
 the deserted ship was left drifting about—a dreary, © 
 specter-like hulk. Nothing was taken from her by the © 
 savages. The whole fiendish transaction was carried — 
 through as decorously and temperately as though it were © 
 
 a religious rite. 
 The first gray of daylight was visible in the east as 
 
 we passed through the surge and reached the shore. © 
 
 Leaving half a dozen men with the canoes, the rest of 
 the negroes set off through the sand-hills, leading me 
 with them, but treating me very gently and respectfully. 
 It was difficult walking, as we sunk over our ankles into 
 
 the loose, shifting sand at every step, and I was nearly — 
 
 dead beat by the time we reached the native village, or 
 town rather, for it was a place of considerable dimensions, 
 
 The houses were conical structures, not unlike bee-hives, © 
 
 and were made of compressed seaweed cemented over 
 with a rude form of mortar, there being neither stick nor 
 
 stone upon the coast nor anywhere within many hun- © 
 dreds of miles. As we entered the town an enormous — 
 crowd of both sexes came swarming out to meet us, beat- — 
 
 ing tom-toms and howling and screaming. On seeing me 
 
 they redoubled their yells and assumed a threatening atti- — 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 177 
 
 | Giant was instantly quelled by a few words shouted 
 by my escort. A buzz of wonder succeeded the war- 
 cries and yells of the moment before, and the whole dense 
 mass proceeded down the broad central street of the town, 
 having my escort and myself in the center. 
 
 My statement hitherto may seem so strange as to 
 excite doubt in the minds of those who do not know me, 
 but it was the fact which I am now about to relate which 
 caused my own brother-in-law to insult me by. disbelief. 
 I can but relate the occurrence in the simplest words, and 
 trust to chance and time to prove their truth. In the cen- 
 ter of this main street there was a large building, formed 
 in the same primitive way as the others, but towering 
 high above them; a stockade of beautifully polished ebony 
 rails was planted all round it, the framework of the door 
 was formed by two magnificent elephant’s tusks sunk 
 in the ground on each side and meeting at the top, and 
 the aperture was closed by a screen of native cloth richly 
 embroidered with gold. We made our way to this impos- 
 ing-looking structure, but, on reaching the opening in the 
 stockade, the multitude stopped and squatted down upon 
 their hams, while I was led through into the enclosure 
 by a few of the chiefs and elders of the tribe, Goring 
 accompanying us, and, in fact, directing the proceedings. 
 On reaching the screen which closed the temple—for such 
 it evidently was—my hat and my shoes were removed, 
 and I was then led in, a venerable old negro leading the 
 way carrying in his hand my stone, which had been taken 
 from my pocket. The building was only lighted up by 
 a few iong slits in the roof, through which the tropical 
 sun poured, throwing broad golden bars upon the clay 
 floor, alternating with intervals of darkness. 
 
 The interior was even larger than one would have 
 imagined from the outside appearance. The walls were 
 hung with native mats, shells, and other ornaments, but 
 the remainder of the great space was quite empty, with 
 the exception of a single object in the center. ‘his was 
 the figure of a colossal negro, which I at first thought 
 to be some real king or high priest of titanic size, but 
 as I approached it I saw by the way in which the light 
 
178 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 was reflected from it that it was a statue admirably cut 
 in jet-black stone. I was led up to this idol, for such 
 it seemed to be, and looking at it closer I saw 
 that, though it was perfect in every other respect, one 
 of its ears had been broken short off. The gray-haired 
 negro who held my relic mounted upon a small stool, 
 and stretching up his arm fitted Martha’s black stone onto 
 the jagged surface on the side of the statue’s head. There 
 could not be a doubt that the one had been broken off 
 from the other. The parts dovetailed together so accu- 
 rately that when the old man removed his hand the ear 
 stuck in its place for a few seconds before dropping into 
 his open palm. The group round me prostrated them- 
 selves upon the ground at the sight with a cry of rever- 
 ence, while the crowd outside, to whom the result was 
 communicated, set up a wild whooping and cheering. 
 
 In a moment I found myself converted from a prisoner 
 into a demi-god. I was escorted back through the town in 
 triumph, the people pressing forward to touch my cloth- 
 ing and to gather up the dust on which my foot had trod. 
 One of the largest huts was put at my disposal, and a 
 banquet of every native delicacy was served me. [ still 
 felt, however, that I was-not a free man, as several 
 spearmen were placed as a guard at the entrance of my 
 hut. All day my mind was occupied with plans of escape, 
 but none seemed in any way feasible. On the one side 
 was the great arid desert stretching away to Timbuctoo, 
 on the other was a sea untraversed by vessels. The 
 mote I pondered over the problem the more hopeless did 
 it seem. I little dreamed how near I was to its solution. 
 
 Night had fallen, and the clamor of the negroes had 
 died gradually away. I was stretched on the couch of 
 skins which had been provided for me, and was still 
 meditating over my future, when Goring walked stealth- 
 ily into the hut. My first idea was that he had come to 
 complete his murderous holocaust by making away with 
 me, the last survivor, and I ‘sprang up upon my feet, de- 
 termined to defend myself to the last. He smiled when 
 he saw the action, and motioned me down again while he 
 seated himself upon the other end of the couch. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 479 
 
 “What do you think of me?” was the astonishing ques- 
 tion with which he commenced our conversation. 
 
 “Think of you!” I almost yelled. “I think you the 
 vilest, most unnatural renegade that ever polluted the 
 earth! If we were away from these black devils of yours 
 I would strangle you with my hands!” 
 
 “Don’t speak so loud,” he said, without the slightest 
 appearance of irritation. “I don’t want our chat to be 
 cut short. So you would strangle me, would you?” he 
 went on, with an amused smile. “I suppose I am re- 
 turning good for evil, for I have come to help you to 
 escape.” 
 
 “You!” I gasped, incredulously. 
 
 “Yes, I,” he continued. “Oh, there is no credit to me 
 in the matter. I am-quite consistent. There is no reason 
 why I should not be perfectly candid with you. I wish 
 to be king over these fellows—not a very high ambition, 
 certainly, but you know what Cesar said about being first 
 in a village in Gaul. Well, this unlucky stone of yours 
 has not only saved your life, but has turned all their heads, 
 so that they think you are come down from heaven, and 
 my influence will be gone until you are out of the way. 
 That is why I am going to help you to escape, since | 
 cannot kill you’’—this in the most natural and dulcet 
 voice, as if the desire to do so were a matter of course. 
 
 “You would give the world to ask me a few questions,” 
 he went on, after a pause, “but you are too proud to do 
 it. Never mind; I’ll tell you one or two things, because 
 I want your fellow white men to know them when you go 
 back—if you are lucky enough to get back. About that 
 cursed stone of yours, for instance. These negroes, or 
 at least so the legend goes, were Mohammedans originally. 
 While Mohammed himself was still alive there was a 
 schism among his followers, and the smaller party moved 
 away from Arabia, and eventually crossed Africa. They 
 took away with them, in their exile, a valuable relic of 
 their old faith in the shape of a large piece of black stone 
 of Mecca. The stone was a meteoric one, as you may 
 have heard, and in its fall upon the earth it broke into 
 two pieces. One of these pieces is still at Mecca. The 
 
180 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 larger piece was carried away to Barbary, where a skillful 
 worker molded it into the fashion which you saw to-day. 
 These men are the descendants of the original seceders 
 from Mohammed, and they have brought their relic safely 
 through all their wanderings until they settled in this” 
 strange place, where the desert protects them from their 
 enemies.” 
 
 “And the ear?’ I asked, almost involuntarily. 
 
 “Oh, that was the same story over again. Some of the 
 tribe wandered away to the south a few hundred years” 
 ago, and one of them, wishing to have good luck for the : 
 enterprise, got into the temple at night and carried off © 
 one of the ears. There has been a tradition among the 
 negroes ever since that the ear would come back some © 
 day. The fellow who carried it was caught by some 
 slaver, no doubt, and that was how it got into America, — 
 and so into your hands—and you have had the honor 
 of fulfilling the prophecy.” 5 
 
 He paused for a few minutes, resting his head upon 
 his hands, waiting apparently for me to speak. When 
 he looked up again the whole expression of his face had 
 changed. His features were firm and set, and he changed — 
 the air of half levity with which he had spoken before - 
 for one of sternness and almost ferocity. 
 
 “I wish you to carry a message back,” he said, “to — 
 the white race—the great dominating race, whom I hate 
 and defy. Tell them that I have battened on their blood — 
 for twenty years; that I have slain them until even I 
 became tired of what had once been a joy; that I did this 
 unnoticed and unsuspected in the face of every precau- 
 tion which their civilization could suggest. There is no 
 satisfaction in revenge when your enemy does not know 
 who has struck him. I am not sorry, therefore, to have 
 you as a messenger. There is no need why I should 
 tell you how this great hate became born in me. See 
 this,” and he held up his mutilated hand; “that was done 
 by a white man’s knife. My father was white, my mother © 
 was a slave. When he died she was sold again, and I, 
 a child then, saw her lashed to death to break her of 
 some of the little airs and graces which her late master 
 
 ps 
 ai) 
 ; 
 
 F 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 181 
 
 had encouraged in her. My young wife, too—oh! my 
 young wife!” a shudder ran through his whole frame. 
 “No matter! I swore my oath, and I kept it. From 
 Maine to Florida, and from Boston to San Francisco, 
 you could track my steps by sudden deaths which baffled 
 the police. I warred against the whole white race as they 
 for centuries had warred against the black one. At last, 
 as I tell you, I sickened of blood. Still, the sight of a 
 white face was abhorrent to me, and I determined to find 
 some bold, free black people and to throw in my lot with 
 them, to cultivate their latent powers, and to form a 
 nucleus for a great colored nation. This idea possessed 
 me, and I traveled over the world for two years seek- 
 ing for what I desired. At last I almost despaired of 
 finding it. There was no hope of regeneration in the 
 slave-dealing Soudanese, the debased Fantee, or the 
 Americanized negroes of Liberia. I was returning from 
 my quest when chance brought me in contact with this 
 magnificent tribe of dwellers in the desert, and I threw 
 in my lot with them. Before doing so, however, my old 
 instinct of revenge prompted me to make one last visit 
 to the United States, and I returned from it in the 
 ‘Marie Celeste.’ 
 
 “As to the voyage itself, your intelligence will have 
 told you by this time that, thanks to my manipulation, 
 both compasses and chronometers were entirely untrust- 
 worthy. I alone worked out the course with correct in- 
 struments of my own, while the steering was done by 
 my black friends under my guidance. I pushed Tibbs’ 
 wife overboard. What! You look surprised and shrink 
 away. Surely you had guessed that by this time. I 
 would have shot you that day through the partition, but 
 unfortunately you were not there. I tried again after- 
 ward, but you were awake. I shot Tibbs. I think the 
 idea of suicide was carried out rather neatly. Of course 
 when once we got on the coast the rest was simple. I had 
 bargained that all on board should die, but that stone of 
 yours upset my plans. I also bargained that there should 
 be no plunder. No one can say we are pirates; we have 
 acted from principle, not from any sordid motive.” 
 
182 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 I listened in amazement to the summary of his crimes 
 which this strange man gave me, all in the quietest 
 and most composed of voices, as though detailing inci- 
 dents of every-day occurrence. I still seem to see him 
 sitting like a hideous nightmare at the end of my couch, 
 with the single rude lamp flickering over his cadaverous 
 features. 
 
 “And now,” he continued, “there is no difficulty about 
 your escape. These stupid adopted children of mine will 
 say that you have gone back to heaven, from whence 
 you came. The wind blows off the land. I have a boat 
 for you, well stored with provisions and water. I am 
 anxious to be rid of you, so you may rely that nothing 
 is neglected. Rise up and follow me.” 
 
 I did what he commanded, and he led me through the 
 door of the hut. The guards had either been withdrawn, 
 or Goring had arranged matters with them. We passed 
 unchallenged through the town and across the sandy 
 plain. Once more I heard the roar of the sea and saw 
 the long white line of the surge. Two figures were 
 standing upon the shore arranging the gear of a small 
 boat. They were the two sailors who had been with us 
 on the voyage. “See him safely through the surf,” said 
 Goring. The two men sprang in and pushed off, pulling 
 me in after them. With mainsail and jib we ran out 
 from the land and passed safely over the bar. Then 
 my two companions, without a word of farewell, sprang 
 overboard, and I saw their heads like black dots on the 
 white foam as they made their way back to the shore, 
 while I scudded away into the blackness of the night. 
 Looking back I caught my last glimpse of Goring. He 
 was standing upon the summit of a_ sand-hill, and 
 the rising moon behind him threw his gaunt, angular 
 figure into hard relief. He was waving his arms fran- 
 tically to and fro; it may have been to encourage me 
 on my way, but the gestures seemed to me at the time 
 to be threatening ones, and I have often thought that it 
 was more likely that his old savage instinct had returned 
 when he realized that I was out of his power. Be that 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 183 
 
 as it may, it was the last that ] ever saw or ever shall 
 see of Septimius Goring. 
 
 There is no need for me to dwell upon my solitary 
 voyage. I steered as well as I could for the Canaries, 
 but was picked up upon the fifth day by the British and 
 African Steam Navigation Company’s boat “Monrovia.” 
 Let me take this opportunity of tendering my sincerest 
 thanks to Captain Stornoway and his officers for the great 
 kindness which they showed me from that time till they 
 landed me in Liverpool, where I was enabled to take one 
 of the Guion boats to New York. 
 
 Fom the day on which I found myself once more in 
 the bosom of my family I have said little of what I 
 have undergone. The subject is still an intensely painful 
 one to me, and the little which I have dropped has been 
 discredited. I now put the facts. before the public as 
 they occurred, careless how far they may be believed, 
 and simply writing them down because my lung is grow- 
 ing weaker and I feel the responsibility of holding my 
 peace longer. I make no vague statement. Turn to your 
 map of Africa. There above Cape Blanco, where the 
 land trends away north and south from the western- 
 most point of the continent—there it is that Septimius 
 Goring still reigns over his dark subjects, unless retri- 
 bution has overtaken him; and there, where the long 
 green ridges run swiftly in to roar and hiss upon the 
 hot yellow sand, it is there that Harton lies with Hyson 
 and the other poor fellows who were done to death in 
 the “Marie Celeste.” 
 
 THE GREAT KEINPLATZ EXPERIMENT 
 
 Or all the sciences which have puzzled the sons of 
 men none had such an attraction for the learned Pro- 
 fessor von Baumgarten as those which relate to psychol- 
 egy and the ill-defined relations between mind and mat- 
 ter. A celebrated anatomist, a profound chemist, and 
 one of the first physiologists in Europe, it was a relief 
 for him to turn from these subjects and to bring his 
 varied knowledge to bear upon the study of the soul and 
 the mysterious relationship of spirits. At first, when as 
 
184 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 a young man he began to dip into the secrets of mes- 
 merism, his mind seemed to be wandering in a strange 
 land, where all was chaos and darkness, save that here 
 and there some great, unexplainable and disconnected 
 fact loomed out in front of him. As the years passed, 
 however, and as the worthy professor’s stock of knowl- 
 edge increased (for knowledge begets knowledge, as 
 money bears interest), much which had seemed strange 
 and unaccountable began to take another shape in his 
 eyes. New trains of reasoning became familiar to him, 
 and he perceived connecting links where all had been in- 
 comprehensible and startling. By experiments which 
 extended over twenty years he obtained a basis of facts 
 upon which it was his ambition to build up a new exact 
 science which should embrace mesmerism, spiritualism, 
 and all cognate subjects. In this he was much helped by 
 his intimate knowledge of the more intricate parts of | 
 animal physiology which treat of nerve currents and the 
 working of the brain; for Alexis von Baumgarten was 
 Regius Professor of Physiology at the University of 
 Keinplatz, and had all the resources of the laboratory 
 to aid him in his profound researches. 
 
 Professor von Baumgarten was tall and thin, with a 
 hatchet face and steel-gray eyes, which were singularly 
 bright and penetrating. Much thought had furrowed 
 his forehead and contracted his heavy eyebrows, so that 
 he appeared to wear a perpetual frown, which often mis- 
 led people as to his character, for though austere he was 
 tender-hearted. He was popular among the students, 
 who would gather round him after his lectures and lis- 
 ten eagerly to his strange theories. Often he would call 
 for volunteers from among them in order to conduct 
 some experiment, so that eventually there was hardly a 
 lad in the class who had not at one time or another been 
 thrown into a mesmeric trance by his professor. 
 
 Of all these young devotees of science there was none 
 who equaled in enthusiasm Fritz von Hartmann. It 
 had often seemed strange to his fellow-students that 
 wild, reckless Fritz, as dashing a young fellow as ever 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 185 
 
 hailed from the Rhinelands, should devote the time and 
 trouble which he did in reading up abstruse works and 
 in assisting the professor in his strange experiments. 
 The fact was, however, that Fritz was a knowing and 
 long-headed fellow. Months before he had lost his heart 
 to young Elise, the blue-eyed, yellow-haired daughter of 
 the lecturer. Although he had succeeded in learning 
 from her lips that she was not indifferent to his suit, he 
 had never dared to announce himself to her family as a 
 formal suitor. Hence he would have found it a difficult 
 matter to see his young lady had he not adopted the ex- 
 pedient of making himself useful to the professor. By 
 this means he frequently was asked to the old man’s 
 house, where he willingly submitted to be experimented 
 upon in any way as long as there was a chance of his 
 teceiving one bright glance from the eyes of Elise or 
 one touch of her little hand. 
 
 Young Fritz von Hartmann was a handsome lad 
 enough; there were broad acres, too, which would de- 
 scend to him when his father died. To many he would 
 have seemed an eligible suitor, but madame frowned 
 upon his presence in the house, and lectured the profes- 
 sor at times upon his allowing such a wolf to prowl 
 around their lamb. To tell the truth, Fritz had an evil 
 name in Keinplatz. Never was there a riot or a duel, or 
 any other mischief afoot, but the young Rhinelander 
 figured as a ringleader in it. No one used more free and 
 violent language, no one drank more, no one played cards 
 more habitually, no one was more idle, save in the one 
 solitary subject. No wonder, then, that the good frau 
 professorin gathered her fraulein under her wing, and 
 resented the attentions of such a mauvais suject. As 
 to the worthy lecturer, he was too much engrossed by 
 his strange studies to form an opinion upon the subject 
 one way or the other. 
 
 For many years there was one question which had 
 continually obtruded itself upon his thoughts. All his 
 experiments and his theories turned upon a single point. 
 A hundred times a day the professor asked himself 
 
186 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 whether it was possible for the human spirit to exist 
 apart from the body for a time and then to return to it 
 once again. When the possibility first suggested itself 
 to him his scientific mind had revolted from it. It 
 clashed too violently with preconceived ideas and the 
 prejudices of his early training. Gradually, however, as 
 he proceeded further and further along the pathway of 
 original research, his mind shook off its old fetters and 
 became ready to face any conclusion which could recon- 
 cile the facts. There were many things which made him 
 believe that it was possible for mind to exist apart from 
 matter. At last it occurred to him that by a daring and 
 original experiment the question might be definitely de- 
 cided. 
 
 “It is evident,” he remarked in his celebrated article 
 upon invisible entities, which appeared in the Keinplatz 
 wochenliche Medicalschrsft about this time, and which 
 surprized the whole scientific world—‘It is evident that 
 under certain conditions the soul or mind does sepa- 
 rate itself from the body. In the case of a mesmer- 
 ized person, the body lies in a cataleptic condition, but 
 the spirit has left it. Perhaps you reply that the soul 
 is there, but in a dormant condition. I answer that this 
 is not so, otherwise how can one account for the condi- 
 tion of clairvoyance, which has fallen into disrepute 
 through the knavery of certain scoundrels, but which can 
 easily be shown to be an undoubted fact? I have been 
 able myself, with a sensitive subject, to obtain an ac- 
 curate description of what was going on in another 
 room or another house. How can such knowledge be 
 accounted for on any hypothesis save that the soul of the 
 subject has left the body and is wandering through space? 
 For a moment it is recalled by the voice of the operator 
 and says what it has seen, and then wings its way once 
 more through the air. Since the spirit is by its very 
 nature invisible, we cannot see these comings and goings, 
 but we see their effect in the body of the subject, now 
 rigid and inert, now struggling to narrate impressions 
 which could never have come to it by natural means. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 187 
 
 There is only one way I can see by which the fact can 
 be demonstrated. Although we in the flesh are unable 
 to see these spirits, yet our own spirits, could we separate 
 them from the body, would be conscious of the presence 
 of others. It is my intention, therefore, shortly to mes- 
 merize one of my pupils. I shall then mesmerize myself 
 in a manner which has become easy to me. After 
 that, if my theory holds good, my spirit will have no 
 difficulty in meeting and communing with the spirit of 
 my pupil, both being separated from the body. I hope 
 to be able to communicate the result of this interesting 
 experiment in an early number of the Keinplatz wochen- 
 liche Medscalschrift.” 
 
 When the good professor finally fulfilled his promise, 
 and published an account of what occurred, the nar- 
 tative was so extraordinary that it was received with 
 general incredulity. The tone of some of the papers 
 was so offensive in their comments upon the matter that 
 the angry savant declared that he would never open his 
 mouth again or refer to the subject in any way—a prom- 
 ise which he has faithfully kept. This narrative has 
 been compiled, however, from the most authentic sources, 
 and the events cited in it may be relied upon as substan- 
 tially correct. 
 
 It happened, then, that shortly after the time when 
 Professor Baumgarten conceived the idea of the above- 
 mentioned experiment, he was walking thoughtfully 
 homeward after a long day in the laboratory, when he 
 met a crowd of roistering students who had just streamed 
 out from a beer-house. At the head of them, half-in- 
 toxicated and very noisy, was young Fritz von Hartmann. 
 The professor would have passed them, but his pupil ran 
 across and intercepted him. 
 
 “Hey! my worthy master,” he said, taking the old man 
 by the sleeve and leading him down the road with him, 
 “there is something that I have to say to you, and it is 
 easier for me to say it now, when the good beer is hum- 
 ming in my head, than at another time.” 
 
188 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “What is it, then, Fritz?” the physiologist asked, look- 
 ing at him in mild surprise. oe 
 
 “I hear, mein herr, that you are about to do some 
 wondrous experiment in which you hope to take a man’s 
 soul out of his body, and then to put it back again. Is 
 it not so?” 
 
 “It is true, Fritz.” 
 
 “And have you considered, my dear sir, that you may 
 have some difficulty in finding some one on whom to try 
 this? Potztausend! Suppose that the soul went out 
 and would not come back. That would be a bad business. 
 Who is to take the risk?” 
 
 “But, Fritz,” the professor cried, very much startled 
 by this view of the matter, “I had relied upon your 
 assistance in the attempt. Surely you will not desert me. 
 Consider the honor and glory.” 3 
 
 “Consider the fiddlesticks!” the student cried angrily. 
 “Am I to be paid always thus? Did I not stand two 
 hours on a glass insulator while you poured electricity 
 into my body? Have you not stimulated my phrenic 
 nerves, besides ruining my digestion with a galvanic cur- 
 rent round my stomach? Four-and-thirty times you have 
 mesmerized me, and what have I got from all this? 
 Nothing. And now you wish to take my soul out, as 
 you would take the works from a watch. It is more 
 than flesh and blood can stand.” | 
 
 “Dear! dear!” the professor cried in great distress. 
 “That is very true, Fritz. I never thought of it before. 
 If you can but suggest how I can compensate you, you 
 will find me ready and willing.” 
 
 “Then listen,” said Fritz solemnly: “If you will pledge 
 your word that after this experiment I may have the 
 hand of your daughter, then I am willing to assist you; 
 but if not, I shall have nothing to do with it. These 
 are my only terms.” : 
 
 “And what would my daughter say to this?” the pro- 
 fessor exclaimed, after a pause of astonishment. 
 
 “Elise would welcome it,” the young man replied. 
 “We have loved each other long.” 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 189 
 
 “Then she shall be yours,’ the physiologist said with 
 decision, “for you are a good-hearted young man, and one 
 of the best neurotic subjects that I have ever known— 
 that is, when you are not under the influence of alcohol. 
 My experiment is to be performed upon the fourth of 
 next month. You will attend at the physiological labora- 
 tory at twelve o’clock. It will be a great occasion, Fritz. 
 Von Gruben is coming from Jena, and Hinterstein from 
 Basle. The chief men of science of all South Germany 
 will be there.” 
 
 “1 shall be punctual,” the student said briefly; and so 
 the two parted. The professor plodded homeward, think- 
 ing of the great coming event, while the young man 
 staggered along after his noisy companions, with his 
 mind full of the blue-eyed Elise, and of the bargain which 
 he had concluded with her father. 
 
 The professor did not exaggerate when he spoke of 
 the widespread interest by his novel psycho-physiological 
 experiment. Long before the hour had arrived the room 
 was filled by a galaxy of talent. Besides the celebrities 
 whom he had mentioned, there had come from London 
 the great Professor Lurcher, who had just established 
 his reputation by a remarkable treatise upon cerebral cen- 
 ters. Several great lights of the Spiritualistic body had 
 also come a long distance to be present, as had a Swed- 
 enborgian minister, who considered that the proceedings 
 pent throw some light upon the doctrines of the Rosy 
 
 ross. 
 
 _ There was considerable applause from this eminent 
 assembly upon the appearance of Professor von Baum- 
 garten and his subject upon the platform. ‘The lecturer, 
 in a few well-chosen words, explained what his views 
 were, and how he proposed to test them. “I hold,” he 
 said, “that when a person is under the influence of mes- 
 merism, his spirit is for the time released from his body, 
 and I challenge any one to put forward any other hy- 
 pothesis which will account for the fact of clairvoyance. 
 I therefore hope that upon mesmerizing my young friend 
 here, and then putting myself into a trance, our spirits 
 
190 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 may be able to commune together, though our bodies lie 
 still and inert. After a time nature will resume her 
 sway, our spirits will return into our respective bodies, : 
 and all will be as before. With your kind permission we 
 shall now proceed to attempt the experiment.” | 
 
 The applause was renewed at this speech, and the 
 audience settled down in expectant silence. With a 
 few rapid passes the performer mesmerized the young 
 man, who sank back in his chair, pale and rigid. He- 
 then took a bright globe of glass from his pocket, and 
 by concentrating his gaze upon it and making a strong 
 mental effort, he succeeded in throwing himself into the 
 same condition. It was a strange and impressive sight 
 to see the old man and the young sitting together in the 
 same cataleptic condition. Whither, then, had their souls _ 
 fled? That was the question which presented itself to 
 each and every one of the spectators. , 
 
 Five minutes passed, and then ten, and then fifteen, and 
 then fifteen more, while the professor and his pupil sat 
 stiff and stark upon the platform. During that time 
 not a sound was heard from the assembled savants, but 
 every eye was bent upon the two pale faces in search 
 of the first signs of returning consciousness. Nearly 
 an hour had elapsed before the patient watchers were 
 rewarded. A faint flush came back to the cheeks of 
 Professor Von Baumgarten. The soul was coming back 
 once more to its earthly tenement. Suddenly he stretched 
 out his long, thin arms, as one awaking from sleep, and, 
 rubbing his eyes, stood up from his chair and gazed about 
 him as though he hardly realized where he was. “Tau- 
 send teufel!’ he exclaimed, rapping out a tremendous 
 South German oath, to the great astonishment of his 
 audience and to the disgust of the Swedenborgian 
 “Where the henker am I, then, and what in thunder has 
 occurred? Oh, yes, I remember now—one of these non- 
 sensical mesmeric experiments. There is no result this 
 time, for I remember nothing at all since I became un- 
 conscious; so you have had all your long journeys for 
 nothing, my learned friends, and a very good joke, too.” 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 191 
 
 At which the regius professor of physiology burst into 
 a roar of laughter and slapped his thigh in a highly in- 
 decorous fashion. The.audience were so enraged at this 
 unseemly behavior on the part of their host that there 
 might have been a considerable disturbance, had it not 
 been for the judicious interferance of young Fritz Von 
 Hartmann, who had now recovered from his lethargy. 
 Stepping to the front of the platform the young man 
 apologized for the conduct of his companion. “I am 
 sorry to say,” he said, “that he is a harum-scarum sort 
 of fellow, although he appeared so grave at the com- 
 mencement of this experiment. He is still suffering 
 from mesmeric reaction, and is hardly accountable for 
 his words. As to the experiment itself, I do not consider 
 it to be a failure. It is very possible that our spirits may 
 have been communing in space during this hour; but, un- 
 fortunately, our gross bodily memory is distinct, from our 
 spirit, and we cannot recall what has occurred. My ener- 
 gies shall now be devoted to devising some means by 
 which spirits may be able to recollect what occurs to them 
 in their free state, and I trust that when I have worked 
 this out I may have the pleasure of meeting you all once 
 again in this hall, and demonstrating to you the result.” 
 This address, coming from so young a student, caused 
 considerable astonishment among the audience, and some 
 were inclined to be offended, thinking that he assumed 
 rather too much importance. The majority, however, 
 looked upon him as a young man of great promise, and 
 many comparisons were made as they left the hall be- 
 tween his dignified conduct and the levity of the pro- 
 fessor, who during the above remarks was laughing 
 heartily in a corner, by no means abashed at the failure 
 of the experiment. 
 
 Now, although all these learned men were filing out 
 of the lecture-room under the impression that they had 
 seen nothing of note, as a matter of fact one of the most 
 wonderful things in the whole history of the world had 
 just occurred before their very eyes. Professor von 
 Baumgarten had been so far correct in his theory that 
 
192 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 both his spirit and that of his pupil had been for a mf 
 absent from his body. But here a strange and unfore- 
 seen complication had occurred. In their return the 
 spirit of Fritz von Hartmann had entered into the body 
 of Alexis von Baumgarten, and that of Alexis von Baum- 
 garten had taken up its abode in the frame of Fritz von 
 Hartmann. Hence the slang and scurrility which issued 
 from the lips of the serious professor, and hence also the 
 weighty words and grave statements which fell from the 
 careless student. It was an unprecedented event, yet no 
 one knew of it, least of all those whom it concerned. 
 
 The body of the professor, feeling conscious suddenly 
 of a great dryness about the back of the throat, sallied 
 out into the street, still chuckling to himself over the re- 
 sult of the experiment, for the soul of Fritz within was 
 reckless at the thought of the bride whom he had won 
 so easily. His first impulse was to go up to the house 
 and see her, but on second thoughts he came to the 
 conclusion that it would be best to stay away until Mme. 
 Baumgarten should be informed by her husband of the 
 agreement which had been made. He therefore made 
 his way down to the Gruner Mann, which was one of the 
 favorite trysting-places of the wilder students, and ran, 
 boisterously waving his cane in the air, into the little 
 parlor, where sat Spiegler and Muller and half a dozen 
 other boon companions. 
 
 “Ha, ha! my boys,’ he shouted. “I knew I should 
 find you here. Drink up, every one of you, and call for 
 what you like, for I’m going to stand treat to-day.” 
 
 Had the green man who is depicted upon the sign- 
 post of that well-known inn suddenly marched into the 
 room and called for a bottle of wine, the students could 
 not have been more amazed than they were by this un- 
 expected entry of their revered professor. They were 
 so astonished that for a minute or two they glared at him 
 in utter bewilderment without being able to make any 
 reply to his hearty invitation. 
 
 “Donner und blitzen!’’ shouted the professor angrily. 
 “What the deuce is the matter with you, then? You sit 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 193 
 
 there like a set of stuck pigs staring at me. What is it, 
 then?” 
 
 _ “Tt is the unexpected honor,” stammered Spiegel, who 
 was in the chair. 
 
 “Honor—rubbish!”’ said the professor testily. “Do 
 you think that just because I happen to have been ex- 
 hibiting mesmerism to a parcel of old fossils, I am there- 
 fore too proud to associate with dear old friends like 
 your Come out of that chair, Spiegel, my boy, for I 
 shall preside now. Beer, or wine, or schnapps, my lads— 
 call for what you like, and put it all down to me.” 
 
 Never was there such an afternoon in the Gruner 
 Mann. The foaming flagons of lager and the green- 
 necked bottles of Rhenish circulated merrily. By degrees 
 the students lost their shyness in the presence of their 
 professor. As for him, he shouted, he sang, he roared, 
 he balanced a long tobacco-pipe upon his nose, and of- 
 fered to run a hundred yards against any member of the 
 company. The kellner and the barmaid whispered to 
 each other outside the door of their astonishment at such 
 proceedings on the part of a regius professor of the 
 ancient University of Keinplatz. They had still more 
 to whisper about afterward, for the learned man cracked 
 the kellner’s crown and kissed the barmaid behind the 
 kitchen door. 
 
 “Gentlemen,” said the professor, standing up, albeit 
 somewhat totteringly, at the end of the table, and bal- 
 ancing his high, old-fashioned wine glass in his bony 
 hand, “I must now explain to you what is the cause of 
 this festivity.” 
 
 “Hear! hear!’ roared the students, hammering their 
 beer glasses against the table; “a speech, a speech!— 
 silence for a speech!” 
 
 “The fact is, my friends,” said the professor, beam- 
 ee roreh his spectacles, “I hope very soon to be mar- 
 Tied.” 
 
 “Married!” cried a student bolder than the others. 
 “Is madame dead, then?” 
 
 “Madame who?” 
 
194 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “Why, Madame von Baumgarten, of course.” ‘ 
 “Ha, ha,” laughed the professor; “I can see, then, that — 
 you know all about my former difficulties. No, she is not 
 dead, but I have reason to believe that she will not oppose — 
 my marriage.’ . 
 “That is very accommodating of her,’ remarked one — 
 of the company. 
 “In fact,” said the professor, “I hope that she will 
 now be induced to aid me in getting a wife. She and 
 I never took to each other very much, but now I hope 
 all that may be ended, and when I marry she will come — 
 and stay with me.” : 
 “What a funny family!” exclaimed some wag. i 
 “Yes, indeed ; and I hope you will come to my wedding, 
 all of you. I won’t mention names, but here is to my 
 little bride!’ and the professor waved his glass in the 
 air, | 
 “Here’s to his little bride!” roared the roysterers with 
 shouts of laughter. “Here’s her health. Sie soll leben— 
 hoch!’ And so the fun waxed still more fast and furi-— 
 ous, while each young fellow followed the professor’s ex- _ 
 ample and drank a toast to the girl of his heart. 
 While all this festivity had been going on at the Gruner 
 Mann, a very different scene had been enacted elsewhere. 
 Young Fritz von Hartmann, with a solemn face and a 
 reserved manner, had, after the experiment, consulted 
 and adjusted some mathematical instruments; after 
 which, with a few peremptory words to the janitors, he 
 had walked out into the street and wended his way slowly 
 in the direction of the house of the professor. As he. 
 walked he saw Von Althaus, the professor of anatomy, in 
 front of him, and quickening his pace he overtook him. — 
 “T say, Von Althaus,” he exclaimed, tapping him on | 
 the sleeve, “you were asking me for some information 
 the other day concerning the middle coast of the cerebral — 
 arteries. Now I find fe 
 “Donnerwetter!’”’ shouted Von Althaus, who was a 
 peppery old fellow. “What the deuce do you mean by 
 your impertinence! Tl have you up before the academi- 
 
 39 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 195 
 
 ‘eal senate for this, sir; with which threat he turned on 
 his heel and hurried away. Von Hartmann was much 
 surprised at this reception. “It’s on account of this fail- 
 ure of my experiment,” he said to himself, and continued 
 moodily on his way. 
 
 Fresh surprises were in store for him, however. He 
 was hurrying along when he was overtaken by two stu- 
 dents. These youths, instead of raising their caps or 
 showing any other sign of respect, gave a wild whoop 
 of delight the instant that they saw him, and rushing 
 at him, seized him by each arm and commenced drag- 
 ging him along with them. 
 
 “Gott in himmel!” roared Von Hartmann. ‘What 
 is the meaning of this unparalleled insult? Where are 
 you taking me?” 
 
 “To crack a bottle of wine with us,” said the two stu- 
 dents. “Come along! ‘That is an invitation which you 
 have never refused.” 
 
 “T never heard of such insolence in my life!” cried 
 Von Hartmann. “Let go my arms! I shall certainly 
 have you rusticated for this. Let me go, I say!” and 
 he kicked furiously at his captors. 
 
 “Oh, if you choose to turn ill-tempered, you may go 
 where you like,” the students said, releasing him. “We 
 can do very well without you.” 
 
 “J know you. I'll pay you out,” said Von Hartmann 
 furiously, and continued in the direction which he im- 
 agined to be his own home, much incensed at the two epi- 
 sodes which had occurred to him on the way. 
 
 Now, Mme. von Baumgarten, who was looking out 
 of the window and wondering why her husband was 
 late for dinner, was considerably astonished to see the 
 young student come stalking down the road. As already 
 remarked, she had a great antipathy to him, and if ever 
 he ventured into the house it was on sufferance, and under 
 the protection of the professor. Still more astonished 
 was she, therefore, when she beheld him undo the wicket 
 gate and stride up the garden path with the air of one 
 who is master of the situation. She could hardly believe 
 
 P| 
 
196 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 her eyes, and hastened to the door with all her maternal - 
 instincts up in arms. From the upper windows the fair 
 Elise had also observed this daring move upon the part 
 of her lover, and her heart beat quick with mingled pride 
 and consternation. : 
 
 “Good-day, sir,” Mme. Baumgarten remarked to the 
 intruder, as she stood in gloomy majesty in the open” 
 doorway. 
 
 “A very fine day indeed, Martha,” returned the other. 
 “Now, don’t stand there like a statue of Juno, but bustle” 
 about and get the dinner ready, for I am well-nigh 
 starved.” i 
 
 “Martha! Dinner!” ejaculated the lady, falling back 
 in astonishment. i 
 
 “Yes, dinner, Martha, dinner!” howled Von Hart- 
 mann, who was becoming irritable. “Is there anything” 
 wonderful in that request when a man has been out all 
 day? Ill wait in the dining-room. Anything will do.” 
 Schinken, and sausage, and prunes—any little thing that — 
 happens to be about. There you are, standing staring 
 again. Woman, will you or will you not stir your legs?” 
 
 This last address, delivered with a perfect shriek of 
 rage, had the effect of sending good Mme. Baumgarten — 
 flying along the passage and through the kitchen, where 
 she locked herself up in the scullery and went into vio-— 
 lent hysterics. In the meantime Von Hartmann strode 
 into the room and threw himself down upon the sofa in 
 the worst of tempers. 
 
 “Elise!” he shouted. ‘“Confound the girl! Elise!” 
 
 Thus roughly summoned, the young lady came timidly 
 down stairs and into the presence of her lover. ‘Dear-— 
 est!” she cried, throwing her arms around him, “I know 
 this is all done for my sake! It is a ruse in order to see 
 me,’ | 
 
 Von Hartmann’s indignation at this fresh attack upon 
 him was so great that he became speechless for a minute 
 from rage, and could only glare and shake his fists, while 
 he struggled in her embrace. When he at last regained 
 his utterance he indulged in such a bellow of passion that 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 197 
 
 the young lady dropped back, petrified with fear, into an 
 armchair. 
 
 “Never have I passed such a day in my life,” Von 
 Hartmann cried, stamping upon the floor. “My experi- 
 ment has failed. Von Althaus has insulted me. Two 
 students have dragged me along the public road. My wife 
 nearly faints when I ask her for dinner, and my daughter 
 flies at me and hugs me like a grizzly bear.” 
 
 “You are ill, dear,” the young lady cried; “‘your mind 
 is wandering. You have not even kissed me once.” 
 
 “No, and I don’t intend to, either,” Von Hartmann 
 
 said with decision. “You ought to be ashamed of your- 
 self. Why don’t you go and fetch my slippers, and help 
 your mother to dish the dinner?” 
 _ “And is it for this?” Elise cried, burying her face in 
 her handkerchief—“Is it for this that I have loved you 
 passionately for upward of ten months? Is it for this 
 that I have braved my mother’s wrath? Oh, you have 
 broken my heart; I am sure you have!” and she sobbed 
 hysterically. 
 
 “I can’t stand much more of this,” roared Von Hart- 
 mann furiously. “What the deuce does the girl mean? 
 What did I do ten months ago which inspired you with 
 such a particular affection for me? If you are really so 
 very fond, you would do better to run away down and 
 find the schinken and some bread, instead of talking all 
 this nonsense.” 
 
 “Oh, my darling!’ cried the unhappy maiden, throw- 
 ing herself into the arms of what she imagined to be 
 Et lover, “you do but joke in order to frighten your little 
 
 lise.” 
 
 Now it chanced that at the moment of this unex- 
 pected embrace Von Hartmann was still leaning back 
 against the end of the sofa, which, like much German 
 furniture, was in a somewhat rickety condition. It also 
 chanced that beneath this end of the sofa there stood 
 a tank full of water in which the physiologist was con- 
 ducting certain experiments upon the ova of fish, and 
 which he kept in his drawing-room in order to insure 
 
198 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 an equable temperature. ‘The additional weight of the | 
 maiden, combined with the impetus with which she hurled | 
 herself upon him, caused the precarious piece of furniture | 
 to give way, and the body of the unfortunate student was 
 hurled backward into the tank, in which his head and | 
 shoulders were firmly wedged, while his lower extremi- 
 ties flapped helplessly about in the air. This was the 
 last straw. [Extricating himself with some difficulty from | 
 his unpleasant position, Von Hartman gave an inarticulate. 
 yell of fury, and dashing out of the room, in spite of the | 
 entreaties of Elise, he seized his hat and rushed off into 
 
 the town, all dripping and disheveled, with the intention 
 of seeking in some inn the food and comfort which he 
 could not find at home. f 
 
 As the spirit of Von Baumgarten incased in the body © 
 of Von Hartmann strode down the winding pathway | 
 which led down into the little town, brooding angrily over — 
 his many wrongs, he became aware that an elderly man 
 was approaching him who appeared to be in an advanced 
 state of intoxication. Won Hartmann waited by the side 
 of the road and watched this individual, who came stum- 
 bling along, reeling from one side of the road to the 
 other, and singing a student song in a very husky and 
 drunken voice. At first his interest was merely excited 
 by the fact of seeing a man of so venerable appearance 
 in such a disgraceful condition; but as he approached 
 nearer he became convinced that he knew the other well, 
 though he could not recall when or where he had met 
 him. This impression became so strong with him that 
 when the stranger came abreast of him he stepped in — 
 front of him and took a good look at his features. 
 
 “Well, sonny,” said the drunken man, surveying Von 
 Hartmann and swaying about in front of him, “where 
 the henker have I seen you before? JI know you as well 
 as I know myself. Who the deuce are you?” 
 
 “I am Professor von Baumgarten,” said the student. 
 “May I ask who you are? I am strangely familiar 
 with your features.” 
 
 “You should never tell lies, young man,” said the other. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 199 
 
 “You're certainly not the professor, for he is an ugly, 
 snuffy old chap, and you are a big, broad shouldered 
 young fellow. As to myself, I am Fritz von Hartmann, 
 at your service.” 
 
 “That you certainly are not!” exclaimed the body 
 of Von Hartmann. ‘You might very well be his father. 
 But, hulloo, sir! are you aware that you are wearing 
 my studs and my watch-chain?” 
 
 “Donnerwetter!” hiccoughed the other. “If those are 
 ‘not the trousers for which my tailor is about to sue me, 
 may I never taste beer again.” 
 
 Now as Von Hartmann, overwhelmed by the many 
 strange things which had occurred to him that day, passed 
 his hand over his forehead and cast his eyes downward, 
 he chanced to catch the reflection of his own face in a 
 pool which the rain had left upon the road. To his utter 
 astonishment he perceived that his face was that of a 
 youth, that his dress was that of a fashionable young 
 student, and that in every way he was the antithesis of 
 the grave and scholarly figure in which his mind was 
 wont to dwell. In an instant his active brain ran over the 
 series of events which had occurred and sprang to the 
 conclusion. He fairly reeled under the blow. 
 
 “Himmel!” he cried; “I see it all. Our souls are in 
 the wrong bodies! I am you and you are I! My theory 
 is proved—but at what an expense! Is the most scholarly 
 mind in Europe to go about with this frivolous exterior? 
 Oh, the labors of a lifetime are ruined!” and he smote 
 his breast in despair. 
 
 “I say,’ remarked the real Von Hartmann from the 
 body of the professor; “I quite see the force of your re- 
 marks, but don’t go knocking my body about like that. 
 You received it in excellent condition, but I perceive that 
 you have wet it and bruised it, and spilled snuff over my 
 ruffled shirt-front.” 
 
 “It matters little,’ the other said, moodily. ‘Such as 
 we are, so must we stay. My theory is triumphantly 
 proved, but the cost is terrible.” 
 
 “Tf I thought so,” said the spirit of the student, “it 
 
200 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 would be hard indeed. What could I do with these 
 stiff old limbs, and how could I woo Elise and persuade 
 her that I was not her father? No, thank heaven! in 
 spite of the beer which has upset me more than ever 
 it could upset my real self, I can see a way out of it.” 
 
 “How?” gasped the professor. 
 
 “Why, by repeating the experiment. Liberate our 
 souls once more, and the chances are that they will find 
 their way back into their respective bodies.” | 
 
 No drowning man could clutch more eagerly at a straw 
 than did Von Baumgarten’s spirit at this suggestion. In 
 feverish haste he dragged his own frame to the side of 
 the road and threw it into a mesmeric trance; he then 
 extracted the crystal ball from the pocket, and managed 
 to bring himself into the same condition. 
 
 Some students and peasants who chanced to pass dur- 
 ing the next hour were much astonished to see the worthy 
 professor of physiology and his favorite student both sit- 
 ting upon a very muddy bank and both completely in- 
 sensible. Before the hour was up quite a crowd had 
 assembled, and they were discussing the advisability of 
 sending for an ambulance to convey the pair to hospital, 
 when the learned savant opened his eyes and gazed va- 
 cantly around him, For an instant he seemed to forget 
 how he had come there, but next moment he astonished 
 his audience by waving his skinny arms above his head 
 and crying out in a voice of rapture, “Gott sie géedanket! 
 I am myself again—I feel Iam!” Nor was the amaze- 
 ment lessened when the student, springing to his feet, 
 burst into the same cry, and the two performed a sort 
 of pas de joie in the middle of the road. 
 
 For some time after that people had some suspicion 
 of the sanity of both the actors in this strange episode. 
 When the professor published his experiences in the 
 Medicalschrift, as he had promised, he was met by an 
 intimation, even from his colleagues, that he would do 
 well to have his mind cared for, and that another such 
 publication would certainly consign him to a madhouse. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 201 
 
 The student also found by experience that it was wisest 
 to be silent about the matter. 
 
 When the worthy lecturer returned home that night he 
 did not receive the cordial welcome which he might have 
 looked for after his strange adventures. On the contrary, 
 he was roundly upbraided by both his female relatives 
 for smelling of drink and tobacco, and also for being 
 absent while a young scapegrace invaded the house and 
 insulted its occupants. It was long before the domestic 
 atmosphere of the lecturer’s house resumed its normal 
 quiet, and longer still before the genial face of Von Hart- 
 mann was seen beneath its roof. Perseverance, however, 
 conquers every obstacle, and the student eventually suc- 
 ceeded in pacifying the enraged ladies and in establishing 
 himself upon the old footing. He has now no longer 
 any cause to fear the enmity of madame, for he is Haupt- 
 mann von Hartmann of the emperor’s own Uhlans, and 
 his loving wife Elsie has already presented him with two 
 little Uhlans as a visible sign and token of her affection. 
 
 THE MAN FROM ARCHANGEL 
 
 On the fourth day of March, in the year 1867, I being 
 at that time in my five-and-twentieth year, I wrote down 
 the following words in my note-book—the result of much 
 mental perturbation and conflict: 
 
 “The solar system, amid a countless number of other 
 systems as large as itself rolls ever silently through 
 space in the direction of the constellation of Hercules. 
 The great spheres of which it is composed spin and spin 
 through the eternal void ceaselessly and noiselessly. Of 
 these one of the smallest and most insignificant is that 
 conglomeration of solid and liquid particles which we have 
 named the earth. It whirls onward now as it has done 
 before my birth, and will do after my death—a revolving 
 Mystery, coming none know whence, and going none 
 ‘know whither. Upon the outer crust of this moving mass 
 ‘crawl many mites, of whom I, John M’vittie, am one, 
 helpless, impotent, being dragged aimlessly through space. 
 
202 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 Yet such is the state of things among us that the little 
 energy and glimmering of reason which I possess is en- 
 tirely taken up with the labors which are necessary in 
 order to procure certain metallic disks, wherewith I may 
 purchase the chemical elements necessary to build up my 
 ever-wasting tissues, and keep a roof over me to shelter 
 me from the inclemency of the weather. I thus have no 
 thought to expend upon the vital questions which sur- 
 round me on every side. Yet, miserable entity as I am, 
 I can still at times feel some degree of happiness, and 
 am even—save the mark '—puffed up occasionally with a 
 sense of my own importance.’ 
 
 These words, as I have said, | wrote down in my 
 note-book, and they reflected accurately the thoughts 
 which I found rooted far down in my soul, ever present 
 and unaffected by the passing emotions of the hour. At 
 last, however, came a time when my uncle, M’vittie of 
 Glencairn, died—the same who was at one time chairman 
 of committees of the House of Commons. He divided 
 great wealth among his many nephews, and I found my- 
 self with sufficient to provide amply for my wants during 
 the remainder of my life, and became at the same time 
 owner of a bleak tract of land upon the coast of Caithness, 
 which I think the old man must have bestowed upon me 
 in derision, for it was sandy and valueless, and he had 
 ever a grim sense of humor. Up to this time I had been 
 an attorney in a midland town in England. Now I saw 
 that I could put my thoughts into effect, and, leaving all 
 petty and sordid aims, could elevate my mind by the study 
 of the secrets of nature. My departure from my English 
 home was somewhat accelerated by the fact that I had 
 nearly slain a man in a quarrel, for my temper was fiery, 
 and I was apt to forget my own strength when enraged. 
 There was no legal action in the matter, but ‘the papers 
 yelped at me, and folk looked askance when I met them, 
 It ended by my cursing them and their vile, smoke- 
 polluted town, and hurrying to my northern possessions, 
 where I might at last find peace and an opportunity for 
 solitary study and contemplation. I borrowed from my 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 208 
 
 capital before I went, and so was able to take with me a 
 choice collection of the most modern philosphical instru- 
 ments and books, together with chemicals and such other 
 things as I might need in my retirement. 
 
 The land which I had inherited was a narrow strip, 
 consisting mostly of sand, and extending for rather over 
 two miles round the coast of Mansie Bay, in Caithness. 
 Upon this strip there had been a rambling, gray-stone 
 building—when erected or wherefore none could tell me 
 —and this I had repaired, so that it made a dwelling quite 
 good enough for one of my simple tastes. One room 
 was my laboratory, another my sitting-room, and in a 
 third, just under the sloping roof, I slung the hammock 
 in which I always slept. There were three other rooms, 
 but I left them vacant, except one which was given over 
 to the old crone who kept house for me. Save the 
 Youngs and the M’Leods, who were fisher-folk living 
 round at the other side of Fergus Ness, there were no 
 other people for many miles in each direction. In front 
 of the house was the great bay; behind it were two long, 
 barren hills, capped by other loftier ones beyond. There 
 was a glen between the hills, and when the wind was 
 from the land it used to sweep down this with a melan- 
 choly sough and whisper among the branches of the fir- 
 trees beneath my attic window. 
 
 I dislike my fellow-mortals. Justice compels me to 
 add that they appear for the most part to dislike me. I 
 hate their little crawling ways, their conventionalities, 
 their deceits, their narrow rights and wrongs. They take 
 offense at my brusque outspokenness, my disregard for 
 their social laws, my impatience of all restraint. Among 
 my books and my drugs in my lonely den at Mansie I 
 could let the great drove of the human race pass onward 
 with their politics and inventions and tittle-tattle, and I 
 remained behind stagnant and happy. Not stagnant 
 either, for I was working in my own little groove, and 
 making progress. I have reason to believe that Dalton’s 
 atomic theory is founded upon error, and I know that 
 mercury is not an element. 
 
i 
 
 204 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 | 
 
 During the day I was busy with my distillations and | 
 analyses. Often 1 forgot my meals, and when old Madge 
 summoned me to my tea I found my dinner lying un-- 
 
 touched upon the table. At night I read Bacon, Descartes, 
 Spinoza, Kant—all those who have pried into what is 
 unknowable. They are all fruitless and empty, barren of 
 
 result, but prodigal of polysyllables, reminding me of 
 
 men who, while digging for gold, have turned up many © 
 
 worms, and then exhibit them exultantly as being what 
 they sought. At times a restless spirit would come upon 
 
 me, and I would walk thirty or forty miles without rest 
 or breaking fast. On these occasions, when I used to 
 stalk through the country villages, gaunt, unshaven and 
 disheveled, the mothers would rush into the road and 
 drag their children indoors, and the rustics would swarm 
 out of their pot-houses to gaze at me. I believe that I 
 was known far and wide as the “mad laird o’ Mansie.” 
 It was rarely, however, that I made these raids into the 
 country, for I usually took my exercise upon my own 
 beach, where I soothed my spirit with strong black to- 
 bacco, and made the ocean my friend and confidant. 
 What companion is there like the great, restless, throb- 
 bing sea? What human mood is there which it does not 
 
 match and sympathize with? There are none so gay but 
 that they may feel gayer when they listen to its merry 
 turmoil, and see the long green surges racing in, with 
 
 the glint of the sunbeams in their sparkling crests. But 
 when the gray waves toss their heads in anger, and the 
 wind screams above them, goading them on to madder and 
 more tumultuous efforts, then the darkest-minded of men 
 feels that there is a melancholy principle in nature which 
 is as gloomy as his own thoughts. When it was calm in 
 the bay of Mansie the surface would be as clear and bright 
 as a sheet of silver, broken only at one spot some little 
 way from the shore, where a long black line projected 
 out of the water, looking like the jagged back of some 
 sleeping monster. This was the top of the dangerous 
 ridge of rocks known to the fishermen as the “ragged 
 reef o’ Mansie.” When the wind blew from the east 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 205 
 
 the waves would break upon it like thunder, and the 
 spray would be tossed far over my house and up to the 
 hills behind. The bay itself was a bold and noble one, 
 but too much exposed to the northern and eastern gales, 
 and too much dreaded for its reef to be much used by 
 mariners. ‘There was something of romance about this 
 lonely spot. I have lain in my boat upon a calm day, and 
 peering over the edge I have seen far down the flickering, 
 ghostly forms of great fish—fish, as it seemed to me, 
 such as naturalist never knew, and which my imagination 
 transformed into the genii of that desolate bay. Once, as 
 1 stood by the brink of the waters upon a quiet night, 
 a great cry, as of a woman in hopeless grief, rose from 
 the bosom of the deep, and swelled out upon the still 
 air, now sinking and now rising, for a space of thirty 
 seconds. This I heard with my own ears. 
 
 In this strange spot, with the eternal hills behind me 
 and the eternal sea in front, 1 worked and brooded for 
 more than two years unpestered by my fellow men. By 
 degrees I had trained my old servant into habits of silence, 
 so that she now rarely opened her lips, though I doubt 
 not that when twice a year she visited her relations in 
 Wick, her tongue during those few days made up for its 
 enforced rest. I had come almost to forget that I was 
 a member of the human family, and to live entirely with 
 the dead whose books I pored over, when a sudden inci- 
 dent occurred which threw all my thoughts into a new 
 channel. 
 
 Three rough days in June had been succeeded by 
 one calm and peaceful one. There was not a breath of 
 air that evening. The sun sank down in the west behind 
 a line of purple clouds, and the smooth surface of the 
 bay was gashed with scarlet streaks. Along the beach the 
 ‘pools left by the tide showed up like gouts of blood 
 against the yellow sand, as if some wounded giant had 
 toilfully passed that way, and had left these red traces 
 of his grievous hurt behind him, As the darkness closed 
 in, certain ragged clouds which had lain low on the 
 eastern horizon coalesced and formed a great irregular 
 
206 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 cumulus. The glass was still low, and I knew that there 
 was mischief brewing. About nine o’clock a dull moan- 
 ing sound came up from the sea, as from a creature who, 
 much harassed, learns that the hour of suffering has come 
 round again. At ten a sharp breeze sprang up from 
 the eastward. At eleven it had increased to a gale, and 
 by midnight the most furious storm was raging which 
 I ever remember upon the weather-beaten coast. | 
 
 As I went to bed the shingle and seaweed were pat- 
 tering up against my attic window, and the wind was 
 screaming as though every gust were a lost soul. By 
 that time the sounds of the tempest had become a lull- 
 aby to me. I knew that the gray walls of the old 
 house would buffet it out, and for what occurred in the 
 world outside I had small concern. Old Madge was 
 usually as callous to such things as I was myself. It 
 was a surprise to me when, about three in the morning, 
 I was awakened by the sound of a great knocking at my 
 door and excited cries in the wheezy voice of my house- 
 keeper. I sprang out of my hammock, and roughly de- 
 manded of her what was the matter. 
 
 “Eh, maister! maister! she screamed in her hateful 
 dialect. “Come doun, mun; come doun! There’s a 
 muckle ship gaun ashore on the reef, and the puir folks 
 are a’ yammerin’ and ca’in’ for help—and I doobt they’ll 
 a’ be drooned. Oh, Maister M’Vittie, come doun!” 
 
 “Hold your tongue, you hag!” I shouted back in a pas- 
 sion. “What is it to you whether they are drowned or 
 not? Get back to your bed and leave me alone.” I 
 turned in again and drew the blankets over me. ‘“Those 
 men out there,’ I said to myself, “have already gone 
 through half the horrors of death. If they be saved they 
 will but have to go through the same once more in the 
 space of a few brief years. It is best, therefore, that 
 they should pass away now, since they have suffered that 
 anticipation which is more than the pain of dissolution.” 
 With this thought in my mind I endeavored to compose 
 myself to sleep once more, for that philosophy which had 
 taught me to consider death as a small and trivial incident 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 207 
 
 in man’s eternal and ever-changing career, had also broken 
 me of much curiosity concerning worldly matters. On 
 this occasion I found, however, that the old leaven still 
 fermented strongly in my soul. I tossed from side to 
 side for some minutes endeavoring to beat down the 
 impulses of the moment by the rules of conduct which 
 I had framed during months of thought. Then I heard 
 a dull roar amid the wild shriek of the gale, and I knew 
 that it was the sound of a signal-gun. Driven by an 
 uncontrollable impulse, I rose, dressed, and having lighted 
 my pipe, walked out on the beach. 
 
 It was pitch dark when I came outside, and the wind 
 blew with such violence that I had to put my shoulder 
 against it and push my way along the shingle. My face 
 pringled and smarted with the sting of the gravel which 
 was blown against it, and the red ashes of my pipe 
 streamed away behind me, dancing fantastically through 
 the darkness. I went down to where the great waves 
 were thundering in, and, shading my eyes with my 
 hands to keep off the salt spray, 1 peered out to sea. I 
 could distinguish nothing, and yet it seemed to me that 
 shouts and great inarticulate cries were borne to me by 
 the blasts. Suddenly as I gazed I made out the glint of a 
 light, and then the whole bay and the beach were lighted 
 up in a moment by a vivid blue glare. They were burning 
 a colored signal-light on board of the vessel. There she 
 lay on her beam-ends, right in the center of the jagged 
 reef, hurled over to such an angle that I could see all 
 the planking of her deck. She was a large two-masted 
 schooner, of foreign rig, and lay perhaps a hundred and 
 eighty or two hundred yards from the shore. Every 
 spar and rope and writhing piece of cordage showed up 
 hard and clear under the livid light which sputtered 
 and flickered from the highest portion of the forecastle. 
 Beyond the doomed ship out of the great darkness came 
 the long rolling lines of black waves, never ending, never 
 tiring, with a petulant tuft of foam here and there upon 
 their crests. Each, as it reached the broad circle of un- 
 natural light, appeared to gather strength and volume and 
 to hurry on more impetuously until, with a roar and a 
 
208 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 jarring crash, it sprang upon its victim. Clinging to the 
 weather shrouds I could distinctly see some ten or twelve — 
 frightened seamen, who, when their light revealed my 
 presence, turned their white faces toward me and waved — 
 their hands imploringly. I felt my gorge rise against 
 these poor cowaring worms. Why should they presume 
 to shirk the narrow pathway along which all that is great 
 and noble among mankind has traveled? ‘There was one 
 there who interested me more than they. He was a tall 
 man, who stood apart from the others, balancing him- 
 self upon the swaying wreck, as though he disdained to 
 cling to rope or bulwark. His hands were clasped behind 
 his back and his head was sunk upon his breast, but 
 even in that despondent attitude there was a litheness © 
 and decision in his pose and in every motion which 
 marked him as a man little likely to yield to despair. 
 Indeed, I could see by his occasional rapid glances up. 
 and down and all around him that he was weighing every 
 chance of safety, but though he often gazed across the 
 raging surf to where he could see my dark figure upon 
 the beach, his self-respect or some other reason forbid © 
 him from imploring my help in any way. He stood, dark, 
 silent, and inscrutable, looking down on the black sea, and 
 waiting for whatever fortune Fate might send him. 
 
 It seemed to me that that problem would very soon be 
 settled. As I looked an enormous billow, topping all 
 the others, and coming after them, like a driver follow- 
 ing a flock, swept over the vessel. Her foremast snapped — 
 short off, and the men who clung to the shrouds were 
 brushed away like a swarm of flies. With a rending, 
 riving sound the ship began to split in two, where the 
 sharp back of the Mansie reef was sawing into her keel. | 
 The solitary man upon the forecastle ran rapidly across 
 the deck and seized hold of a white bundle which I had al-_ 
 ready observed, but failed to make out. As he lifted it up 
 the light fell upon it, and I saw that the object was a wo- 
 man, with a spar lashed across her body and under her. 
 arms in such a way that her head should always rise above 
 water. He bore her tenderly to the side and seemed to 
 speak for a minute or so to her, as though explaining 
 
@ 
 A STUDY IN SCARLET 209 
 
 the impossibility of remaining on the ship. Her answer 
 was a singular one. I saw her deliberately raise her hand 
 and strike him across the face with it. He appeared to be 
 silenced for a moment or so by this, but he addressed 
 her again, directing her, as far as I could gather from his 
 motions, how she should behave when in the water. She 
 shrank away from him, but he caught her in his arms. 
 He stooped over her for a moment and seemed to press 
 his lips against her forehead. Then a great wave came 
 welling up against the side of the breaking vessel, and 
 leaning over he placed her upon the summit of it as gently 
 as a child might be committed to its cradle. I saw her 
 white dress flickering among the foam on the crest of 
 the dark billow, and then the light sank gradually lower, 
 and the riven ship and its lonely occupant were hidden 
 from my eyes. 
 
 As I watched those things my manhood overcame my 
 philosophy, and I felt a frantic impulse to be up and 
 doing. I threw my cynicism to one side as a garment 
 which I might don again at leisure, and I rushed wildly 
 to my boat and my sculls. She was a leaky tub, but 
 what then? Was I, who had cast many a wistful, doubt- 
 ful glance at my opium bottle, to begin now to weigh 
 chances and to cavil at danger? I dragged her down to 
 the sea with the strength of a maniac and sprang in. 
 For a moment or two it was a question whether she 
 could live among the boiling surge, but a dozen frantic 
 strokes took me through it half full of water, but still 
 afloat. I was out on the unbroken waves now, at one 
 time climbing, climbing up the broad black breast of 
 one, then sinking down, down on the other side, until, 
 looking up, I could see the gleam of the foam all around 
 me against the dark heavens. Far behind me I could 
 hear the wild wailings of old Madge, who, seeing me 
 start, thought no doubt that my madness had come to 
 a climax. As I rowed I peered over my shoulder, until 
 at last on the belly of a great wave which was sweeping 
 toward me I distinguished the vague white outline of the 
 woman. Stooping over, I seized her as she swept by 
 me, and with an effort lifted her, all sodden with water, 
 
210 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 into the boat. There was no need to row back, for the 
 next billow carried us in and threw us upon the beach. I 
 dragged the boat out of danger, and then, lifting up the 
 woman, I carried her to the house, followed by my 
 housekeeper, loud with congratulation ‘and praise. 
 
 Now that I had done this thing a reaction set in upon 
 me. I felt that my burden lived, for I heard the faint 
 beat of her heart as I pressed my ear against her side in 
 carrying her. Knowing this I threw her down beside the 
 fire which Madge had lighted, with as little sympathy as 
 though she had been a bundle of faggots. I never 
 glanced at her to see if she were fair or no. For many 
 years I had cared little for the face of a woman. As I 
 lay in my hammock up stairs, however, I heard the old 
 woman as she chafed the warmth back into her, crooning 
 a chorus of, “Eh, the puir lassie! Eh, the bonnie lassie!” 
 from which I gathered that this piece of jetsam was both 
 young and comely. 
 
 The morning after the gale was peaceful and sunny. 
 As I walked along the sweep of sand I could hear the 
 panting of the sea. It was heaving and swirling about 
 the reef, but along the shore it rippled in gently enough. 
 There was no sign of the schooner, nor was there any 
 wreckage upon the beach, which did not surprise me, as 
 I knew there was a great undertow in those waters. A 
 couple of broad-winged gulls were hovering and skim- 
 ming over the scene of the shipwreck, as though many 
 strange things were visible to them beneath the waves. 
 At times I could hear their raucous voices as they spoke 
 to one another of what they saw. 
 
 When I came back from my walk the woman was 
 waiting at the door for me. I began to wish when I saw 
 her that I had never saved her, for here was an end of 
 my privacy. She was very young—at the most nine- 
 teen—with a pale, somewhat refined face, yellow hair, 
 merry blue eyes, and shining teeth. Her beauty was of 
 an ethereal type. She looked so white and light and 
 fragile that she might have been the spirit of that storm- 
 foam out of which I plucked her. She had wreathed 
 some of Madge’s garments round her in a way which 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 211 
 
 was quaint and not unbecoming. As I strode heavily 
 up the pathway she put out her hands with a pretty, 
 childlike gesture, and ran down toward me, meaning, 
 as I surmise, to thank me for having saved her, but I 
 put her aside with a wave of my hand and passed her. 
 At this she seemed somewhat hurt, and the tears sprang 
 into her eyes, but she followed me into the sitting-room 
 and watched me wistfully. “What country do you come 
 from?” I asked her suddenly. 
 
 She smiled when I spoke, but shook her head. 
 
 “Francais?” I asked. “Deutsch? Espagnol?’ Each 
 time she shook her head, and then she rippled off into a 
 long statement in some tongue of which I could not under- 
 stand one word. 
 
 After breakfast was over, however, I got a clue to her 
 nationality. Passing along the beach once more, I saw 
 that in a cleft of the ridge a piece of wood had been 
 jammed. J rowed out to it in my boat, and brought it 
 ashore. It was part of the sternpost of a boat, and on 
 it, or rather on the piece of wood attached to it, was 
 the word “Archangel,” painted in strange, quaint letter- 
 ing. “So,’ I thought, as I paddled slowly back, “this 
 pale damsel is a Russian. A fit subject for the White 
 Czar and a proper dweller on the shores of the White 
 Sea!” It seemed to me strange that one of her apparent 
 refinement should perform so long a journey in so frail 
 a craft. When I came back into the house I pronounced 
 the word “Archangel” several times in different intona- 
 tions, but she did not appear to recognize it. 
 
 I shut myself up in the laboratory all the morning, 
 continuing a research which I was making upon the 
 nature of the allotropic forms of carbon and sulphur. 
 When I came out at midday for some food she was sitting 
 by the table with a needle and thread, mending some 
 rents in her clothes, which were now dry. I resented 
 her continued presence, but I could not turn her out on the 
 beach to shift for herself. Presently she presented a 
 new phase of her character. Pointing to herself and 
 then to the scene of the shipwreck, she held up one finger, 
 by which I understood her to be asking whether she was 
 
| 
 Ty 
 é } 
 
 . | 
 
 212 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 the only one saved. I nodded my head to indicate that | 
 she was. On this she sprang out of the chair with a cry 
 of great joy, and holding the garment which she was 
 mending over her head, and swaying it from side to side 
 with the motion of her body, she danced as lightly as a 
 feather all around the room, and then out through the 
 open door into the sunshine. As she whirled round she 
 sang in a plaintive, shrill voice some uncouth, barbarous 
 chant, expressive of exultation. 1 called out to her, 
 “Come in, you young fiend! come in and be silent!” but 
 she went on with her dance. Then she suddenly ran to- 
 ward me, and catching my hand before I could pluck it 
 away, she kissed it. While we were at dinner she spied 
 one of my pencils, and taking it up she wrote the two 
 words “Sophie Ramusine” upon a piece of paper, and 
 then pointed to herself as a sign that that was her name. 
 She handed the pencil to me, evidently expecting that 1 
 would be equally communicative, but I put it in my pocket 
 as a sign that I wished to hold no intercourse with her. 
 Every moment of my life now I regretted the un- 
 guarded precipitancy with which I had saved this woman. 
 What was it to me whether she had lived or died? I was 
 no young, hot-headed youth to do such things. It was 
 bad enough to be compelled to have Madge in the house, - 
 but she was old and ugly and could be ignored. ‘This 
 one was young and lively, and so fashioned as to divert 
 attention from graver things. Where could I send her, 
 and what could I do with her? If I sent information 
 to Wick it would mean that officials and others would 
 come to me and pry, and peep, and chatter—a hateful 
 thought. It was better to endure her presence than that. 
 I soon found that there were fresh troubles in store 
 for me. There is no place safe from the swarming, 
 restless race of which I am a member. In the evening, 
 when the sun was dipping down behind the hills, casting 
 them into dark shadow, but gilding the sands and casting 
 a great glory over the sea, I went, as is my custom, for a 
 stroll along the beach. Sometimes on these occasions 
 I took my book with me. I did so on this night, and 
 stretching myself upon a sand-dune I composed myself 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 213 
 
 to read. As I lay there I suddenly became aware of a 
 shadow which interposed itself between the sun and my- 
 self. Looking round, I saw to my great surprise a very 
 tall, powerful man, who was standing a few yards off, 
 and who, instead of looking at me, was ignoring my exist- 
 ence completely, and was gazing over my head with a 
 stern, set face at the bay and the black line of the Mansie 
 reef. His complexion was dark, with black hair, and 
 short, curling beard, a hawklike nose, and golden earrings 
 in his ears—the general effect being wild and somewhat 
 noble. He wore a faded velveteen jacket, a red flannel 
 shirt, and high sea boots, coming half-way up his thighs. 
 I recognized him at a glance as being the same man 
 who had been left on the wreck the night before. 
 
 “Hullo!” I said, in an aggrieved voice; “you got ashore 
 all right, then?” 
 
 “Yes,” he answered, in good English. “It was no doing 
 of mine. The waves threw me up. I wish to God I had 
 been allowed to drown!” There was a slight foreign 
 lisp in his accent which was rather pleasing. “Two good 
 fishermen, who live round yonder point, pulled me out 
 and cared for me; yet I could not honestly thank them 
 for it.” 
 
 “Ho! ho!” thought I, “here is a man of my own kid- 
 ney. Why do you wish to be drowned?” I asked. 
 
 “Because,” he cried, throwing out his long arms with a 
 passionate, despairing gesture, “there—there in that blue, 
 smiling bay lies my soul, my treasure—everything that I 
 loved and lived for!” 
 
 “Well, well,’ I said; “people are ruined every day, but 
 there’s no use making a fuss about it. Let me inform you 
 that this ground on which you walk is my ground, and 
 that the sooner you take yourself off it the better pleased 
 I shall be. One of you is quite trouble enough.” 
 
 “One of us?” he gasped. 
 
 “Yes—if you could take her off with you I should be 
 still more grateful.” 
 
 He gazed at me for a moment as if hardly able to 
 tealize what I said, and then with a wild cry he ran away 
 from me with prodigious speed and raced along the sands 
 
214 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 toward my house. Never before or since have I seen 
 a human being run so fast. I followed as rapidly as 
 I could, furious at this threatened invasion, but long 
 before I had reached the house he had disappeared through 
 the open door. I heard a great scream from the inside, 
 and as I came nearer the sound of a man’s bass voice 
 speaking rapidly and loudly. When I looked in the girl, 
 Sophie Ramusine, was crouching in a corner, cowering 
 away, with fear and loathing expressed on her averted 
 face and in every line of her shrinking form. The other, 
 with his dark eyes flashing and his outstretched hands 
 quivering with emotion, was pouring forth a torrent of 
 passionate, pleading words. He made a step forward 
 to her as I entered, but she writhed still further away, 
 and uttered a sharp cry like that of a rabbit when the 
 weasel has him by the throat. : 
 “Here!” I said, pulling him back from her. “This is a 
 pretty to-do! What do you mean? Do you think this_ 
 is a wayside inn or a place of public accommodation?” — 
 “Oh, sir,’ he said, “excuse me. This woman is my 
 wife, and J feared that she was drowned. You have 
 brought me back to life.” 
 “Who are you?” I asked roughly. 
 “T am a man from Archangel,’ he said simply; “a 
 Russian man.” | 
 “What is your name?” 
 “Ourganeff.”’ : 
 “Ourganeff !—and hers is Sophie Ramusine. She is no 
 wife of yours. She has no ring.” | 
 “We are man and wife in the sight of heaven,” he 
 said solemnly, looking upward. “We are bound by higher 
 laws than those of earth.” As he spoke the girl slipped 
 behind me and caught me by the other hand, pressing 
 it, as though beseeching my protection. “Give me up 
 my wife, sir,’ he went on. “Let me take her away from 
 here.” : 
 “Look here, you--whatever your name is,’ I said 
 sternly; “I don’t want this wench here. I wish I had 
 never seen her. If she died it would be no grief to me. 
 But as to handing her over to you, when it is clear she 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 215 
 
 fears and hates you, I won’t do it. So now just clear 
 your great body out of this and leave me to my books. 
 I hope I may never look upon your face again.” 
 
 “You won't give her up to me?” he said hoarsely. 
 
 “T’ll see you damned first!’ I answered. 
 
 “Suppose I take her?” he cried, his dark face growing 
 darker. 
 
 All my tigerish blood flushed up in a moment. I picked 
 up a billet of wood from beside the fireplace. “Go,” I 
 said, in a low voice; “go quick, or I may do your an in- 
 jury.’ He looked at me irresolutely for a moment, and 
 then he left the house. He came back again in a moment, 
 however, and stood in the doorway looking in at us. 
 
 “Have a heed what you do,” he said. “The woman is 
 mine, and I shall have her. When it comes to blows a 
 Russian is as good a man as a Scotchman.” 
 
 “We shall see that,” I cried, springing forward, but 
 he was already gone, and I could see his tall form moving 
 away through the gathering darkness. 
 
 For a month or more after this things went smoothly 
 with us. I never spoke to the Russian girl, nor did she 
 ever address me. Sometimes when I was at work in my 
 laboratory she would slip inside the door and sit silently 
 there watching me with her great eyes. At first this in- 
 trusion annoyed me, but by degrees, finding that she 
 made no attempt to distract my attention, I suffered her to 
 remain. Encouraged by this concession, she gradually 
 came to move the stool on which she sat nearer and nearer 
 to my table, until after gaining a little every day during 
 some weeks, she at last worked her way right up to me, 
 and used to perch herself beside me whenever I worked. 
 In this position she used, still without ever obtruding 
 her presence in any way, to make herself very useful by 
 holding my pens, test-tubes, or bottles, and handing me 
 whatever I wanted, with never-failing sagacity. By ig- 
 noring the fact of her being a human being, and looking 
 upon her as a useful automatic machine, I accustomed 
 myself to her presence so far as to miss her on the few 
 occasions when she was not at her post. I have a habit 
 of talking aloud to myself at times when I work, so as to 
 
216 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 fix my results better in my mind. The girl must have had 
 a surprising memory for sounds, for she could always 
 repeat the words which [I let fall in this way, withdut, 
 of course, understanding in the least what they meant. 
 I have often been amused at hearing her discharge a 
 volley of chemical equations and algebraic symbols at old 
 Madge, and then burst into a ringing laugh when the 
 crone would shake her head, under the impression, no 
 doubt, that she was being addressed in Russian. 
 
 She never went more than a few. yards from the 
 house, and indeed never put her foot over the threshold 
 without looking carefully out of each window in order 
 to be sure that there was nobody about. By this I knew 
 that she suspected that her fellow-countryman was still 
 in the neighborhood, and feared that he might attempt to 
 carry her off. She did something else which was signifi- 
 cant. I had an old revolver with some cartridges, which 
 had been thrown away among the rubbish. She found 
 this one day, and at once proceeded to clean it and oil it. 
 She hung it up near the door, with the cartridges in a 
 little bag beside it, and whenever I went for a walk she 
 would take it down and insist upon my carrying it with 
 me. In my absence she would always bolt the door, 
 Apart from her apprehensions she seemed fairly happy, 
 busying herself in helping Madge when she was not at- 
 tending upon me. She was wonderfully nimble- fingered 
 and natty in all domestic duties. 
 
 It was not long before I discovered that her suspicions 
 were well founded, and that this man from Archangel 
 was still lurking in the vicinity. Being restless one 
 night, I rose and peered out of the window. The weather 
 was somewhat cloudy, and I could barely make out the 
 line of the sea and the loom of my boat upon the beach. 
 As I gazed, however, and my eyes became accustomed 
 to the obscurity, I became aware that there was some 
 other dark blur upon the sands, and that in front of my 
 very door, where certainly there had been nothing of 
 the sort the preceding night. As I stood at my diamond- 
 paned lattice still peering and peeping to make out what 
 this might be, a great bank of clouds rolled slowly away 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 217 
 
 from the face of the moon, and a flood of cold, clear 
 light was poured down upon the silent bay and the long 
 sweep of its desolate shores. Then I saw what this was 
 which haunted my doorstep. It was he, the Russian. 
 He squatted there like a gigantic toad, with his legs dou- 
 bled under him in strange Mongolian fashion, and his 
 eyes fixed apparently upon the window of the room in 
 which the young girl and the housekeeper slept. The 
 light fell upon his upturned face, and I saw once more 
 the hawklike grace of his countenance, with the single 
 deeply indented line of care upon his brow, and the pro- 
 truding beard which marks the passionate nature. My 
 first impulse was to shoot him as a trespasser, but as I 
 gazed my resentment changed into pity and contempt. 
 “Poor fool!’ I said to myself, “‘is it, then, possible that 
 you, whom I have seen looking open-eyed at present 
 death, should have your whole thoughts and ambition cen- 
 tered upon this wretched slip of a girl—a girl, too, who 
 flies from you and hates you? Most women would love 
 you—were it but for that dark face and great, handsome 
 body of yours—and yet you must needs hanker after the 
 one in a thousand who will have no traffic with you.” 
 As I returned to my bed I chuckled much to myself over 
 this thought. I knew that my bars were strong and my 
 bolts thick. It mattered little to me whether this strange 
 man spent his night at my door or a hundred leagues 
 off, so long as he was gone by morning. As I expected, 
 when I rose and went out there was no sign of him, 
 nor had he left any trace of his midnight vigil. 
 
 It was not long, however, before I saw him again. I 
 had been out for a row one morning, for my head was 
 aching, partly from prolonged stooping, and partly from 
 the effects of a noxious drug which I had inhaled the 
 night before. I pulled along the coast some miles, and 
 then, feeling thirsty, I landed at a place where I knew 
 that a fresh water stream trickled down into the sea. 
 This rivulet passed through my land, but the mouth of 
 it, where I found myself that day, was beyond my boun- 
 dary line. I felt somewhat taken aback when, rising 
 from the stream at which I had slaked my thirst, I found 
 
218 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 myself face to face with the Russian. I was as much 
 a trespasser now as he was, and I could see at a glance 
 that he knew it. 
 
 “T wish to speak a few words to you,” he said gravely. 
 
 “Hurry up, then!’ I answered, glancing at my watch. 
 “T have no time to listen to chatter.” | 
 
 “Chatter!” he repeated angrily. “Ah, but there. You 
 Scotch people are strange men. Your face is hard and 
 your words rough, but so are those of the good fisher- 
 men with whom I stay, yet I find that beneath it all there 
 lie kind, honest natures. No doubt you are kind and 
 good, too, in spite of your roughness,” 
 
 “In the name of the devil,” I said, “say your say, and 
 go your way. I am weary of the sight of you!” 
 
 “Can I not soften you in any way?” he cried. “Ah, see 
 —see here’—he produced a small Grecian cross from 
 inside his velvet jacket. “Look at this. Our religions — 
 may differ in form, but at least we have some common 
 thoughts and feelings when we see this emblem.” 
 
 “IT am not so sure of that,” I answered. 
 
 He looked at me thoughtfully. 
 
 “You are a very strange man,” he said at last. “T 
 cannot understand you. You still stand between me and 
 Sophie. It is a dangerous position to take, sir. Oh, 
 believe me, before it is too late. If you did but know 
 what I have done to gain that woman—how I have risked 
 my body, have I have lost my soul! You are a small 
 obstacle to some which I have surmounted—you, whom 
 a rip of a knife, or a blow from a stone, would put out 
 of my way forever. But God preserve me from that,” he 
 cried wildly. “I am deep—too deep—already. Anything 
 rather than that.” 
 
 “You would do better to go back to your country,” 
 I said, “than to skulk about these sand-hills and disturb 
 my leisure. When I have proof that you have gone away 
 I shall hand this woman over to the protection of the 
 Russian consul at Edinburgh. Until then I shall guard 
 her myself, and not you, nor any Muscovite that ever 
 breathed, shall take her from me!” ; 
 
 “And what is your object in keeping Sophie from me?” 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 219 
 
 he asked. “Do you imagine that I would injure her? 
 Why, man, I-would give my life freely to save her 
 from the slightest harm. Why do you do this thing?” 
 
 “T do it because it is my good pleasure to act so,” 
 I answered. “I give no man reasons for my conduct.” 
 
 “Look here!’ he cried, suddenly blazing into fury, and 
 advancing toward me with his shaggy mane bristling and 
 his brown hands clenched, “if I thought you had one 
 dishonest thought toward this girl—if for a moment I 
 had reason to believe you had any base motive for de- 
 taining her—as sure as there is a God in heaven I should 
 drag the heart out of your bosom with my hands.” 
 The very idea seemed to have put the man in a: frenzy, 
 for his face was all distorted and his hands opened and 
 shut convulsively. I thought that he was about to spring 
 at my throat. 
 
 “Stand off,’ I said, putting my hand on my pistol. 
 “Tf you lay a finger on me [ shall kill you.” 
 
 He put his hand into his pocket, and for a moment I 
 thought he was about to produce a weapon, too, but in- 
 stead of that he whipped out a cigarette and lighted it, 
 breathing the smoke rapidly into his lungs. No doubt 
 he had found by experience that this was the most effec- 
 tual way of curbing his passions. 
 
 “T told you,’ he said in a quieter voice, “that my 
 name is Ourganefit—Alexis Ourganeff. I am a Finn by 
 birth, but I have spent my life in every part of the world. 
 I was one who could never be still, nor settle down to a 
 quiet existence. After I came to own my own ship there 
 is hardly a port from Archangel to Australia which I 
 have not entered. I was rough and wild and free, but 
 there was one at home, sir, who was prim and white- 
 handed and soft-tongued, skillful in little fancies and 
 conceits which women love. This youth by his wiles and 
 tricks stole from me the love of the girl whom I had 
 ever marked as my own, and who up to that time had 
 seemed in some sort inclined to return my passion. I had 
 been on a voyage to Hammerfest for ivory, and coming 
 back unexpectedly I learned that my pride and treasure 
 was to be married to this soft-skinned boy, and that the 
 
220 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 party had actually gone to the church. In such moments, 
 sir, something gives way in my head, and I hardly know — 
 
 what I do. 1 landed with a boat’s crew—all men who 
 
 had sailed with-me for years, and who were as true age 
 steel. We went up to the church. They were standing, - : 
 she and he, before the priest, but the thing had not been 
 done. I dashed between them and caught her round the ( 
 waist. My men beat back the frightened bridegroom and 
 
 the lookers-on. We bore her down to the boat and 
 
 aboard our vessel, and then getting up anchor we sailed 
 
 away across the White Sea until the spires of Arch. 
 angel sank down behind the horizon. She had my cabin, 
 my room, every comfort. I slept among the men in the | : 
 forecastle. I hoped that in time her aversion to me would — 
 
 wear away, and that she would consent to marry me in 
 
 England or France. For days and days we sailed. We 
 
 saw the North Cape die away behind us, and we skirted 
 
 the gray Norwegian coast, but still, in spite of every” 
 
 attention, she would not forgive me for tearing her from 
 
 that pale- ‘faced lover of hers. Then came this cursed storm | 
 
 which shattered both my ship and my hopes, and has” 
 
 deprived me even of the sight of the woman for whom I 
 
 have risked so much. Perhaps she may learn to love me 
 yet. You, sir,’ he said wistfiilly, “look like one who 
 
 has seen much of the world. Do you not think that she | 
 
 may come to forget this man and to love me?” 
 
 “Tt am tired of your story,” I said, turning away. “For : 
 my part, I thinks you are a great fool. If you imagine — 
 that this love of yours will pass away you have best amuse — 
 yourself as best you can until it does. If, on the other 
 hand, it is a fixed thing, you cannot do better than cut 
 your throat, for that is the shortest way out of it. I 
 have no more time to waste on the matter.” With this 
 It hurried away and walked down to the boat. I never 
 looked round, but I heard the dull sound of his feet upon 
 the sands as he followed me. | 
 
 “I have told you the beginning of my story,” he said, 
 
 “and you shall know the end some day. You would 
 do well to let the girl go.’ 
 
 I never answered him, but pushed the boat off. When 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 221’ 
 
 I had rowed some distance out I looked back and saw 
 his tall figure upon the yellow sand as he stood gazing 
 thoughtfully after me. When I looked again some min- 
 utes later he had disappeared. 
 
 For a long time after this my life was as regular and 
 as monotonous as it had been before the shipwreck. At 
 times I hoped that the man from Archangel had gone 
 away altogether, but certain footsteps which I saw upon 
 the sand, and more particularly a little pile of cigarette ash 
 which I found one day behind a hillock from which a 
 view of the house might be obtained, warned me that, 
 though invisible, he was still in the vicinity. My rela- 
 tions with the Russian girl remained the same as before. 
 Old Madge had been somewhat jealous of her presence 
 at first, and seemed to fear what little authority she had 
 would be taken away from her. By degrees, however, as 
 she came to realize my utter indifference, she became 
 reconciled to the situation, and, as I have said before, 
 profited by it, as our visitor performed much of the do- 
 mestic work. 
 
 And now I am coming near the end of this narrative 
 of mine, which I have written a great deal more for my 
 own amusement than for that of any one else. The 
 termination of the strange episode in which these two 
 Russians had played a part was as wild and as sudden 
 as the commencement. ‘The events of one single night 
 freed me from all my troubles, and left me once more 
 alone with my books and my studies, as I had been before 
 their intrusion. Let me endeavor to describe how this 
 came about. 
 
 I had had a long day of heavy and wearying work, so 
 that in the evening I determined upon taking a long walk. 
 When I emerged from the house my attention was at- 
 tracted by the appearance of the sea. It lay like a sheet of 
 glass, so that never a ripple disturbed its surface. Yet 
 the air was filled with that indescribable moaning sound 
 which I have alluded to before—a sound as though the 
 ‘spirits of all those who lay beneath those treacherous 
 waters were sending a sad warning of coming troubles 
 to their brethren in the flesh. The fishermen’s wives 
 
222 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 along that coast know the eerie sound, and look anxiously 
 across the waters for the brown sails making for the 
 land. When I heard it I stepped back into the house and 
 looked at the glass. It was down below 29°, Then I 
 knew that a wild night was coming upon us. 
 
 Underneath the hills where I walked that evening it 
 was dull and chill, but their summits were rosy-red, and 
 the sea was brightened by the sinking sun, There were 
 no clouds of importance in the sky, yet the dull groaning 
 of the sea grew louder and stronger. I saw, far to the 
 eastward, a brig beating up for Wick, with a reef in 
 her topsails. It was evident that her captain had read the 
 signs of nature as I had done. Behind her a long, lurid 
 haze lay low upon the water, concealing the horizon. “I 
 had better push on,” I thought to myself, “or the wind. 
 may rise before I can get back.” i 
 
 I suppose I must have been at least half a mile from 
 the house when I suddenly stopped and listened breath-_ 
 lessly. My ears were so accustomed to the noises of 
 nature, the sighing of the breeze and the sob of the 
 waves, that any other sound made itself heard at a great 
 distance. I waited, listening with all my ears. Yes, 
 there it was again—a long-drawn, shrill cry of despair, 
 ringing over the sands and echoed back from the hills 
 behind me—a piteous appeal for aid. It came from the 
 direction of my house. I turned and ran back homeward 
 at the top of my speed, plowing through the sand, racing 
 over the shingle. In my mind there was a great dim per-_ 
 ception of what had) occurred. : 
 
 About a quarter of,a mile from the house there is a 
 high sand-hill, from which the whole country round is 
 visible. When I reached the top of this I paused for a 
 moment. There was the old gray building—there the 
 boat. Everything seemed to be as I had left it. Even 
 as I gazed, however, the shrill scream was repeated, 
 louder than before, and the next moment a tall figure 
 emerged from my door, the figure of the Russian sailor. 
 Over his shoulder was the white form of the young girl, 
 and even in his haste he seemed to bear her tenderly and 
 with gentle reverence. 1 could hear her wild cries and 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 223 
 
 see her desperate struggles to break away from him. 
 Behind the couple came my old housekeeper, staunch 
 and true, as the aged dog, who can no longer bite, still 
 snarls with toothless gums at the intruder. She stag- 
 gered feebly along at the heels of the ravisher, waving 
 her long, thin arms, and hurling, no doubt, volleys of 
 Scotch curses: and imprecations at his head. I saw at 
 a glance‘that he was making for the boat. A sudden hope 
 sprang up in my soul that I might be in time to inter- 
 cept him. I ran for the beach at the top of my speed. 
 As I ran I slipped a cartridge into my revolver. ‘This, 
 I determined, should be the last of these invasions. 
 
 I was too late. By the time I reached the water’s edge 
 he was a hundred yards away, making the boat spring 
 with every stroke of his powerful arms. I uttered a wild 
 cry of impotent anger, and stamped up and down the 
 sands like a maniac. He turned and saw me. Rising 
 from his seat he made me a graceful bow, and waved his 
 hand to me. It was not a triumphant or a derisive ges- 
 ture. Even my furious and distempered mind recognized 
 it as being a solemn and courteous leave-taking. Then 
 he settled down to his oars once more, and the little skiff 
 shot away over the bay. The sun had gone down now, 
 leaving a single dull, red streak upon the water, which 
 stretched away until it blended with the purple haze on 
 the horizon. Gradually the skiff grew smaller and 
 smaller as it sped across this lurid band, until the shades 
 of night gathered round it and it became a mere blur 
 upon the lonely sea. Then this vague loom died away also 
 and darkness settled over it—a darkness which should 
 never more be raised. 
 
 And why did I pace the solitary shore, hot and wrath- 
 ful as a wolf whose whelp has been torn from it? Was 
 it that I loved this Muscovite girl? No—a thousand 
 times no! JI am not one who, for the sake~of a white 
 skin or a blue eye, would belie my own life, and change 
 the whole tenor of my thoughts and existence. My heart 
 was untouched. But my pride—ah, there I had been 
 cruelly wounded. To think that I had been unable to af- 
 ford protection to the helpless one who craved it of me, 
 
224: A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 and who relied on me! It was that which made my heart 
 sick and sent the blood buzzing through my ears. i 
 That night a great wind rose up from the sea, and the 
 wild waves shrieked upon the shore as though they would | 
 tear it back with them into the ocean. The turmoil and 
 the uproar were congenial to my vexed spirit. All night 
 I wandered up and down, wet with spray and rain, watch- 
 ing the gleam of the white breakers and listening to the 
 outcry of the storm. My heart was bitter against the 
 Russian. I joined my feeble pipe to the screaming of the 
 gale. “If he would but come back again!” I cried with 
 clenched hands; “if he would but come back!’ | 
 He came back. When the gray light of morning spread 
 over the eastern sky, and lighted up the great waste of 
 yellow, tossing waters, with the brown clouds drifting 
 swiftly over them, then I saw him once again. A few 
 hundred yards off along the sand there lay a long, dark 
 object, cast up by the fury of the waves. It was my 
 boat, much shattered and splintered. A little further 
 on, a vague, shapeless something was washing to and 
 fro in the shallow water, all mixed with shingle and with 
 seaweed. I saw at a glance that it was the Russian, face 
 downward and dead. I rushed into the water and dragged 
 him up onto the beach. It was only when I turned him 
 over that I discovered that she was beneath him, his 
 dead arms encircling her, his mangled body still inter- 
 vening between her and the fury of the storm. It seemed 
 that the fierce German Sea might beat the life out from 
 him, but with all its strength it was unable to tear this 
 one-idea’d man from the woman whom he loved. There 
 were signs which led me to believe that during that awful 
 night the woman’s fickle mind had come at last to learn the 
 worth of the true heart and the strong arm which strug- 
 gled for her and guarded her so tenderly. Why else 
 should her little head be nestling so lovingly on his broad 
 breast, while her yellow hair entwined itself with his 
 flowing beard? Why, too, should there be that bright 
 smile of ineffable happiness and triumph, which death it- 
 self had not had-power to banish from his dusky face? I 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 225 
 
 fancy that death had been brighter to him than life had 
 ever been. 
 
 Madge and I buried them there on the shores of the 
 desolate northern sea. They lie in one grave, deep down 
 beneath the yellow sand. Strange things may happen 
 in the world around them. Empires may rise and fall, 
 dynasties may perish, great wars may come and go, but, 
 heedless of it all, those two shall embrace each other 
 for ever and aye in their lonely shrine by the side of the 
 sounding ocean. I sometimes have thought that their 
 spirits flit like shadowy sea-mews over the wild waters 
 of the bay. No cross or symbol marks their resting- 
 place, but old Madge puts wild flowers on it at times, 
 and when I pass on my daily walk and see the fresh blos- 
 soms scattered over the sand, I think of the strange couple 
 who came from afar, and broke for a little space the 
 dull tenor of my somber life. 
 
 THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX 
 
 “Au aboard ?” said the captain. 
 
 “All aboard, sir!’ said the mate. 
 
 “Then stand by to let her go.” 
 
 It was nine o’clock on a Wednesday morning. The 
 good ship “Spartan” was lying off Boston Quay with 
 her cargo under hatches, her passengers shipped, and 
 everything prepared for a start. The warning whistle 
 had been sounded twice; the final bell had been rung. 
 Her bowsprit was turned toward England, and the hiss 
 of escaping steam showed that all was ready for her run 
 of three thousand miles. She strained at the warps that 
 held her like a greyhound at its leash. 
 
 I have the misfortune to be a very nervous man. A 
 sedentary literary life has helped to increase the morbid 
 love of solitude which, even in my boyhood, was one of 
 my distinguishing characteristics. As I stood upon the 
 quarter-deck of the transatlantic steamer I bitterly cursed 
 the necessity which drove me back to the land of my 
 forefathers. The shouts of the sailors, the rattle of the 
 cordage, the farewells of my fellow-passengers, and the 
 
226 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 cheers of the mob, each and all jarred upon my sensitive 
 nature. I felt sad, too. An indescribable feeling, as of 
 some impending calamity, seemed to haunt me. The sea 
 was calm, and the breeze light. There was nothing to 
 disturb the equanimity of the most confirmed of landsmen, 
 yet I felt as if I stood upon the verge of a great though 
 indefinable danger. I have noticed that such presentiments 
 occur often in men of my peculiar temperament, and that 
 they are not uncommonly fulfilled. There is a theory 
 that it arises from a species of second-sight, a subtle 
 spiritual communication with the future. I well remem- 
 ber that Herr Raumer, the eminent spiritualist, remarked 
 on one occasion that I was the most sensitive subject as 
 regards supernatural phenomena that he had ever en- 
 countered in the whole of his wide experience. Be that as 
 it may, I certainly felt far from happy as I threaded my 
 way among the weeping, cheering groups which dotted 
 the white decks of the good ship “Spartan.” Had I 
 known the experience which awaited me in the course of 
 the next twelve hours I should even then at the last mo- 
 ment have sprung upon the shore, and made my escape 
 from the accursed vessel. 
 
 “Time’s up!” said the captain, closing his chronometer 
 with a snap, and replacing it in his pocket. “Time’s up!” 
 said the mate. There was a last wail from the whistle, 
 a rush of friends and relatives upon the land. One warp 
 was loosened, the gangway was being pushed away, when 
 there was a shout from the bridge, and two men ap- 
 peared, running rapidly down the quay. They were 
 waving their hands and making frantic gestures, appar- 
 ently with the intention of stopping the ship. “Look 
 sharp!’ shouted the crowd. “Hold hard!’ cried the 
 captain. “Ease her! stop her! Up with the gangway!” 
 and the two men sprang aboard just as the second warp 
 parted, and a convulsive throb of the engine shot us 
 clear of the shore. There was a cheer from the deck, 
 another from the quay, a mighty fluttering of handker- 
 chiefs, and the great vessel plowed its way out of the 
 harbor and steamed grandly away across the placid bay. 
 
 We were fairly started upon our fortnight’s voyage. 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 227 
 
 There was a general dive among the passengers in quest 
 of berths and luggage, while a popping of corks in the 
 saloon proved that more than one rebeaved traveler was 
 adopting artificial means for drowning the pangs of sep- 
 aration. I glanced round the deck and took a running in- 
 ventory of my compagnons de voyage. They presented 
 the usual types met with upon these occasions. There was 
 no striking face among them. I speak as a connoisseur, 
 for faces are a specialty of mine. I pounce upon a char- 
 acteristic feature as a botanist does on a flower, and bear 
 it away with me to analyze at my leisure, and classify 
 and label it in my little anthropological museum. There 
 was nothing worthy of me here. Twenty types of young 
 America going to “Yurrup,’ a few respectable middle- 
 aged couples as an antidote, a sprinkling of clergymen and 
 professional men, young ladies, bagmen, British exclu- 
 sives, and all the olla podrida of an ocean-going steamer. 
 I turned away from them and gazed back at the reced- 
 ing shores of America, and, as a cloud of remembrances 
 rose before me, my heart warmed toward the land of my 
 adoption. A pile of pormanteaus and luggage chanced 
 to be lying on one side of the deck, awaiting their turn 
 to be taken below. With my usual love for solitude I 
 walked behind these, and sitting on a coil of rope be- 
 tween them and the vessel’s side, I indulged in a melan- 
 choly reverie. 
 
 I was aroused from this by a whisper behind me. 
 “Here’s a quiet place,’ said the voice. “Sit down, and 
 we can talk it over in safety.” 
 
 Glancing through a chink between two colossal chests, 
 I saw that the passengers who had joined us at the last 
 moment were standing at the other side of the pile. They 
 had evidently failed to see me as I crouched in the shadow 
 of the boxes. The one who had spoken was a tall and 
 very thin man, with a blue-black beard and a colorless 
 face. His manner was nervous and excited. His compan- 
 ion was a short, plethoric little fellow, with a brisk and 
 ‘resolute air. He had a cigar in his mouth, and a large 
 ulster slung over his left arm. They both glanced round 
 
228 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 uneasily, as if to ascertain whether they were alone. “This - 
 is just the place,” I heard the other say. They sat down 
 on a bale of goods, with their backs turned toward me, 
 and I found myself, much against my will, playing the 
 unpleasant part of eavesdropper to their conversation. 
 
 “Well, Muller,” said the taller of the two, “we've got 
 it aboard right enough.” | 
 
 “Ves,” assented the man whom he had addressed as 
 Muller; “it’s safe aboard.” 
 
 “It was rather a near go.” 
 
 “It was that, Flannigan.” 
 
 “It wouldn’t have done to have missed the ship.” 
 
 “No; it would have put our plans out.” ‘ 
 
 “Ruined them entirely,” said the little man, and puffed 
 furiously at his cigar for some minutes, 
 
 “T’ve got it here,’ he said at last. 
 
 “Let me see it.” 
 
 “Ts no one looking 2?” 
 
 “No; they are nearly all below.” : 
 
 “We can’t be too careful where so much is at stake,” 
 said Muller, as he uncoiled the ulster which hung over 
 his arm, and disclosed a dark object which he laid upon 
 the deck. One glance as it was enough to cause me 
 spring to my feet with an exclamation of horror. Luck- 
 ily they were so engrossed in the matter on hand that 
 neither of them observed me. Had they turned their 
 heads they would infallibly have seen my pale face glar- 
 ing at them over the pile of boxes. ! 
 
 From the first moment of their conversation a horri- 
 ble misgiving had come over me. It seemed more than. 
 confirmed as I gazed at what lay before me. It was a little 
 square box made of some dark wood, and ribbed with 
 brass. I suppose it was about the size of a cubic, foot. 
 It reminded me of a pistol-case, only it was decidedly 
 higher. There was an appendage to it, however, on which 
 my eyes were riveted, and which suggested ‘the pistol 
 itself rather than its receptacle. This was a trigger-like 
 arrangement upon the lid, to which a coil of string was 
 attached. Beside this trigger was a small aperture 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 229 
 
 through the wood. The tall man, Flannigan, as his com- 
 panion called him, applied his eye to this, and peered 
 in for several minutes with an expression of intense 
 anxiety upon his face. 
 
 “Tt seems right enough,” he said at last. 
 
 “I tried not to shake it,” said his companion, 
 
 “Such delicate things need delicate treatment. Put in 
 some of the needful, Muller.” 
 
 The shorter man fumbled in his pocket for some time, 
 and then produced a small paper packet. He opened this, 
 and took out of it half a handful of whitish granules, 
 which he poured down through the hole. A curious click- 
 ing noise followed from inside of the box, and both the 
 men smiled in a satisfied way. 
 
 “Nothing much wrong there,” said Flannigan. 
 
 “Right as a trivet,’ answered his companion. 
 
 “Look out! here’s some one coming. Take it down to 
 our berth. It wouldn’t do to have any one suspecting 
 what our game is, or, worse still, to have them fumbling 
 with it, and letting it off by mistake.” 
 
 “Well, it would come to the same, whoever let it off,” 
 said Muller. 
 
 “They'd be rather astonished if they pulled the trig- 
 ger,” said the taller, with a sinister laugh. “Ha! ha! 
 fancy their faces! It’s not a bad bit of workmanship, 
 I flatter myself.” 
 
 “No,” said Muller. “I hear it is your own design, 
 every bit of it, isn’t it?” 
 
 “Yes, and the spring and sliding shutter are my own.” 
 
 “We should take out a patent.” 
 
 _ And the two men laughed again with a cold, harsh 
 laugh, as they took up the little brass-bound package and 
 ‘concealed it in Muller’s voluminous overcoat. 
 
 “Come down, and we'll stow it in our berth,” said 
 Flannigan. “We won’t need it until to-night, and it will 
 be safe there.” 
 
 His companion assented, and the two went arm-in-arm 
 along the deck and disappeared down the hatchway, bear- 
 ing the mysterious little box away with them. The last 
 
230 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 words I heard were a muttered injunction from Flannigan 
 to carry it carefully, and avoid knocking it against the 
 bulwarks. 
 
 How long I remained sitting on that coil of rope I 
 shall never know. The horror of the conversation I had 
 just overheard was aggravated by the first sinking qualms 
 of sea-sickness. The long roll of the Atlantic was be- 
 ginning to assert itself over both ship and passengers. 
 I felt prostrate in mind and body, and fell into a state of 
 collapse, from which I was finally aroused by the hearty 
 voice of our worthy quartermaster. | 
 
 “Do you mind moving out of that, sir?” he said. “We 
 want to get this lumber cleared off the deck.” 
 
 His bluff manner and ruddy, healthy faced seemed to 
 be a positive insult to me in my present condition. Had — 
 I been a courageous or a muscular man I could have 
 struck him. As it was, I treated the honest sailor to a 
 melodramatic scowl, which seemed to cause him no small 
 astonishment, and strode past him to the other side of 
 the deck. Solitude was what 1 wanted—solitude in which 
 I could brood over the frightful crime which was being 
 hatched before my very eyes. One of the quarter-boats 
 was hanging rather low down upon the davits. An idea 
 struck me, and climbing on the bulwarks, I stepped into 
 the empty boat and lay down in the bottom of it. 
 Stretched on my back, with nothing but the blue sky 
 above me, and an occasional view of the mizzen as the 
 vessel rolled, I was at least alone with my sickness and 
 my thoughts. 
 
 I tried to recall the words which had been spoken in 
 the terrible dialogue I had overheard. Would they admit 
 of any construction but the one which stared me in the 
 face? My reason forced me to confess that they would 
 not. I endeavored to array the various facts which 
 formed the chain of circumstantial evidence, and to find 
 a flaw in it—but no, not a link was missing. There was 
 the strange way in which our passengers had come aboard, 
 enabling them to evade any examination of their luggage. 
 The very name of ‘“Flannigan’” smacked of Fenianism, 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 231 
 
 while “Muller” suggested nothing but socialism and mur- 
 der. Then their mysterious manner; their remark that 
 their plans would have been ruined had they missed the 
 ship; their fear of being observed; last, but not least, 
 the clinching evidence in the production of the little 
 square box with the trigger, and their grim joke about 
 the face of the man who should let it off by mistake— 
 could these facts lead to any conclusion other than that 
 they were the desperate emissaries of some body, political 
 or otherwise, who intended to sacrifice themselves, their 
 fellow-passengers and the ship in one great holocaust? 
 The whitish granules which I had seen one of them pour 
 into the box formed, no doubt, a fuse or train for ex- 
 ploding it. I had myself heard a sound come from it 
 which might have emanated from some delicate piece of 
 machinery. But what did they mean by their allusion 
 to to-night? Could it be that they contemplated putting 
 their horrible design into execution on the very first 
 evening of our voyage? The mere thought of it sent a 
 cold shudder over me, and made me for a moment su- 
 perior even to the agonies of seasickness. 
 
 I have remarked that I am a physical coward. I am 
 a moral one, also. It is seldom that the two defects are 
 united to such a degree in the one character. I have 
 known many men who were most sensitive to bodily 
 danger, and yet were distinguished for the independence 
 and strength of their minds. In my own case, however, 
 I regret to say that my quiet and retiring habits had fos- 
 tered a nervous dread of doing anything remarkable of 
 making myself conspicuous, which exceeded, if possible, 
 my fear of personal peril. An ordinary mortal placed 
 under the circumstances in which I now found myself 
 would have gone at once to the captain, confessed his 
 fears, and put the matter into his hands. To me, how- 
 ever, constituted as I am, the idea was most repugnant. 
 The thought of becoming the observed of all observers, 
 cross-questioned by a stranger, and confronted with two 
 desperate conspirators in the character of a denouncer, 
 was hateful to me. Might it not by some remote pos- 
 
232 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 sibility prove that I was mistaken? What would be 
 my feelings if there should turn out to be no grounds 
 for my accusation? No, I would procrastinate; | would — 
 keep my eye on the two desperadoes and dog them at 
 every turn. Anything was better than the possibility of — 
 being wrong. | 
 Then it struck me that even at that moment some new — 
 phase of the conspiracy might be developing itself. The 
 nervous excitement seemed to have driven away by in-— 
 cipient attack of sickness, for I was able to stand up 
 and lower myself from the boat without experiencing 
 any return of it. I staggered along the deck with the 
 intention of descending into the cabin and finding how my — 
 acquaintances of the morning were occupying themselves. — 
 Just as I had my hand on the companion-rail. I was as- 
 tonished by receiving a hearty slap on the back, which 
 nearly shot me down the steps with more haste than 
 dignity. | 
 “Is that you, Hammond?” said a voice which I seemed 
 to recognize. i 
 “God bless me,’ I said, as I turned round, “it can’t — 
 be Dick Merton! Why, how are you, old man?” a 
 This was an unexpected piece of luck in the midst of © 
 my perplexities. Dick was just the man I wanted; kindly ~ 
 and shrewd in his nature, and prompt in his.actions, I 
 should have no difficulty in telling him my suspicions, © 
 and could rely upon his sound sense to point out the 
 best course to pursue. Since I was a little lad in the 
 second form at Harrow, Dick had been my adviser and — 
 protector. He saw at a glance that something had gone . 
 wrong with me. 3 
 “Hullo! he said, in his kindly way, “what’s put you 
 about, Hammond? You look as white as a sheet. Mal 
 de mer, eh?” A 
 “No, not that altogether,” said I. “Walk up and down > 
 with me, Dick; I want to speak to you. Give me your 
 arm. i 
 Supporting myself on Dick’s stalwart frame, I tottered — 
 along by his side; but it was some time before I could 
 muster resolution to speak. " 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 233 
 
 “Have a cigar?” said he, breaking silence. 
 
 “No, thanks,” said I. “Dick, we shall all be corpses 
 to-night.” 
 
 “That’s no reason against your having a cigar now,” 
 said Dick, in his cool way, but looking hard at me from 
 under his shaggy eyebrows as he spoke. He evidently 
 thought that my intellect was a little gone. 
 
 “No,” I continued, “it’s no laughing matter, and I 
 speak in sober earnest, I assure you. I have discovered 
 an infamous conspiracy, Dick, to destroy this ship and 
 every soul that is in her.” And I then proceeded sys- 
 tematically, and in order, to lay before him the chain 
 of evidence which I had collected. “There, Dick,” I 
 said, as I concluded, “what do you think of that? and, 
 above all, what am I to do?” 
 
 To my astonishment he burst into a hearty fit of 
 laughter. 
 
 “T’d be frightened,” he said, “if any fellow but you had 
 told me as much. You always had a way, Hammond, of 
 discovering mares’ nests. I like to see the old traits 
 breaking out again. Do you remember at school how you 
 swore there was a ghost in the long room, and how it 
 turned out to be your own reflection in the mirror? Why, 
 man,” he continued, “what object would any one have in 
 destroying this ship? We have no great political guns 
 aboard. On the contrary, the majority of the passen- 
 gers are Americans. Besides, in this sober nineteenth 
 century, the most wholesale murderers stop at including 
 themselves among their victims. Depend upon it, you 
 have misunderstood them, and have mistaken a photo- 
 graphic camera, or something equally innocent, for an 
 infernal machine.” 
 
 “Nothing of the sort, sir,’ said I, rather touchily. 
 You will learn to your cost, I fear, that I have neither 
 exaggerated nor misinterpreted a word. As to the box, 
 I have certainly never before seen one like it. It con- 
 tained delicate machinery; of that I am convinced, from 
 the way in which the men handled it and spoke of it.” 
 
 “You’d make out every packet of perishable goods to 
 
234 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 be a torpedo,” said Dick, “af that is to be your only test.” — 
 
 “The man’s name was Flannigan,”’ I continued. 
 
 “T don’t think that would go very far in a court of © 
 law,” said Dick; “but come, I have finished my cigar. — 
 Suppose we go down together and split a bottle of claret. © 
 You can point out these two Orsinis to me if they are 
 still in the cabin.” 
 
 “All right,” I answered; ‘I am determined not to lose 
 sight of them all day. Don’t look hard at them, though, 
 for I don’t want them to think that they are being © 
 watched,” 
 
 “Trust me,” said Dick; “Tl look as unconscious and 
 guileless as a lamb.” And with that we passed down 
 the companion and into the saloon. 
 
 A good many passengers were scattered about the great — 
 central table, some wrestling with refractory carpet-bags 
 and rug-straps, some having their luncheon, and a few ~ 
 reading and otherwise amusing themselves. The objects 
 of our quest were not there. We passed down the room ~ 
 and peered into every berth, but there was no sign of 
 them. “Heavens!” thought I, “perhaps at this very 
 moment they are beneath our feet, in the hold or engine- 
 room, preparing their diabolical contrivance!” It was 
 better to know the worst than to remain in such sus- 
 pense. 
 
 “Steward,” said Dick, “are there any other gentlemen 
 about ?” 
 
 “There’s two in the smoking-room, sir,’ answered the 
 steward. 
 
 The smoking-room was a little snuggery,. luxuriously 
 fitted up; and adjoining the pantry. We pushed the door 
 open and entered. A sigh of relief escaped from my 
 bosom. ‘The very first object on which my eye rested — 
 was the cadaverous face of Flannigan, with its hard-set 
 mouth and unwinking eye. His companion sat opposite to 
 him. They were both drinking, and a pile of cards 
 lay. upon the, table. They were engaged in playing as — 
 we entered. I nudged Dick to show him that we had 
 found our quarry, and we sat down beside them with as 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 235 
 
 unconcerned an air as possible. The two conspirators 
 seemed to take little notice of our presence. I watched 
 them both narrowly. The game at which they were play- 
 ing was “Napoleon.” Both were adepts at it, and I could 
 not help admiring the consummate nerve of the men who, 
 with such a secret at their hearts, could devote their, 
 minds to the manipulating of a long suit or the finessing 
 of a queen. Money changed hands rapidly, but the run 
 of luck seemed to be all against the taller of the two 
 players. At last he threw down his cards on the table 
 with an oath, and refused to go on. 
 
 “No, I’m hanged if I do,” he said; “I haven’t had 
 more than two of a suit for five hands.” 
 
 “Never mind,” said his comrade, as he gathered up 
 his winnings; “a few dollars one way or the other won’t 
 go very far after to-night’s work.” 
 
 I was astonished at the rascal’s audacity, but took care 
 to keep my eyes fixed abstractedly upon the ceiling, and 
 drank my wine in as unconscious a manner as possible. 
 I felt that Flannigan was looking toward me with his 
 wolfish eyes to see if I had noticed the allusion. He 
 whispered something to his companion which I failed 
 to catch. It was a caution, I suppose, for the other 
 answered rather angrily: 
 
 “Nonsense! Why shouldn’t I say what I like? Over 
 caution is just what would ruin us.” 
 
 “I believe you want it not to come off,” said Flanni- 
 gan. 
 
 “You believe nothing of the sort,’ said the other, 
 speaking rapidly and loudly. ‘You know as well as I 
 do that when I play for a stake I like to win it. But 
 IT won’t have my words criticized and cut short by you 
 or any other man. I have as much interest in our suc- 
 cess as you have—more, I hope.” 
 
 He was quite hot about it, and puffed furiously at his 
 cigar for some minutes. The eyes of the other ruffian 
 wandered alternately from Dick Merton to myself. I 
 knew that I was in the presence of a desperate man, 
 that a quiver of my lip might be the signal for him to 
 
236 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 plunge a weapon into my heart, but I betrayed more ~ 
 
 self-command that I should have given myself credit © 
 
 for under such trying circumstances. As to Dick, he was © 
 as immovable and apparently as unconscious as the Egyp- — 
 
 tian Sphinx. 
 
 There was silence for some time in the smoking-room, © 
 broken only by the crisp rattle of the cards, as the man — 
 Muller shuffled them up before replacing them in his — 
 pocket. He still seemed to be somewhat flushed and ir- — 
 
 ritable. Throwing the end of his cigar into the spittoon, — 
 he glanced defiantly at his companion and turned toward © 
 
 me 
 
 be heard of again?” 
 
 “Can you tell me, sir,” he said, “when this ship will — 
 
 They were both looking at me, but, though my face : 
 
 may have turned a trifle paler, my voice was a steady 
 
 as ever as I answered: 
 
 “I presume, sir, that it will be heard of first when it 
 
 enters Queenstown Harbor.” 
 
 “Ha, ha!’ laughed the angry little man, “I knew you 
 would say that. Don’t you kick me under the table, Flan- — 
 
 nigan, I won’t stand it. I know what I am doing. You — 
 
 are wrong, sir,’ he continued, turning to me; “utterly 
 
 wrong.” 
 
 “Some passing ship, perhaps?” suggested Dick. 
 
 “No, nor that either.” 
 
 “The weather is fine,’ I said; “why should we not be 
 heard of at our destination?” 
 
 “I didn’t say we shouldn’t be heard of at our destina- 
 tion. Possibly we may not, and in any case that is not 
 
 where we shall be heard of first.” 
 “Where then?” asked Dick. 
 
 “That you shall never know. Suffice it that a rapid and © 
 mysterious agency will signal our whereabouts, and that — 
 before the day is out. Ha! ha!” and he chuckled once © 
 
 again. : 
 
 “Come on deck!” growled his comrade; “you have ‘ 
 drunk too much of that confounded brandy-and-water. — 
 It has loosened your tongue. Come away!” and taking — 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 237 
 
 him by the arm he half led him, half forced him out of 
 the smoking-room, and we heard them stumbling up the 
 companion together, and onto the deck. 
 
 “Well, what do you think now?” I gasped, as I turned 
 
 toward Dick. He was as imperturbable as ever. 
 
 “Think!” he said; “why, I think what his companion 
 thinks, that we have been listening to the ravings of a 
 half-drunken man. The fellow stunk of brandy.” 
 
 “Nonsense, Dick! you saw how the other tried to 
 stop his tongue.” 
 
 “Of course he did. He didn’t want his friend to make 
 a fool of himself before strangers. Maybe the short 
 one is a lunatic, and the other his private keeper. It’s 
 quite possible.” 
 
 “Oh, Dick! Dick!” I cried; “how can you be so blind? 
 Don’t you see that every word confirmed our previous 
 suspicion ?” 
 
 “Humbug, man!” said Dick; “you’re working yourself 
 into a state of nervous excitement. Why, what the devil 
 do you make of all that nonsense about a mysterious 
 agent which would signal our whereabouts : reat 
 
 “TIl tell you what he meant, Dick,’ I said, bending 
 forward and grasping my friend’s arm. “He meant a 
 sudden glare and a flash seen far out at sea by some 
 lonely fisherman off the American coast. That’s what 
 he meant.” 
 
 “T didn’t think you were such a fool, Hammond,” said 
 Dick Merton testily. “If you try to fix a literal meaning 
 on the twaddle that every drunken man talks, you will 
 come to some queer conclusions. Let us follow their ex- 
 ample, and go on deck. You need fresh air, I think. 
 Depend upon it, your liver is out of order. A sea-voyage 
 will do you a world of good.” 
 
 “Tf I ever see the end of this one,’ I groaned, PY 
 promise never to venture on another. They are laying 
 the cloth, so it’s hardly worth while my going up. I'll 
 stay below and unpack my things.” 
 
 “TI hope dinner will find you in a more pleasant state 
 of mind,” said Dick; and he went out, leaving me to my 
 
238 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 thoughts until the clang of the great gong summoned us — 
 to the saloon. 
 
 “T was glad to notice that Flannigan was placed almost 
 opposite to me. As long as I had him before my eyes 
 I knew that, for the time at least, we were safe. — 
 He was sitting with what was meant to be a sociable 
 smile on his grim face. It did not escape me that 
 he drank largely of wine—so largely that even before 
 the dessert appeared his voice had become decidedly 
 husky. His friend Muller was seated a few paces 
 lower down. He ate little, and appeared to be nervous © 
 and restless. 
 
 “Now, ladies,” said our genial captain, “I trust that 
 you will consider yourselves at home aboard my vessel. 
 I have no fears for the gentlemen. A bottle of cham- 
 pagne, steward. MHere’s to a fresh breeze and a quick 
 passage! I trust our friends in America will hear of © 
 our safe arrival in eight days, or in nine at the very 
 latest.” 
 
 I looked up. Quick as was the glance which passed 
 between Flannigan and his confederate, I was able to 
 intercept it. There was an evil smile upon the former’s 
 thin lips. 
 
 There was a sudden lull in the conversation. The 
 ordinary subjects of interest appeared to be exhausted. — 
 The opportunity was a favorable one. 
 
 “May I ask, captain,’ I said, bending forward and 
 speaking very distinctly, “what you think of Fenian 
 manifestoes ?” 
 
 The captain’s ruddy face became a shade darker from 
 honest indignation. 
 
 “They are poor, cowardly things,” he said, “as silly as 
 they are wicked.” 
 
 “The impotent threats of a set of anonymous scoun- 
 drels,”’ said a pompous-looking old gentleman beside him. 
 
 “Oh, captain,” said the fat lady at my side, “you don’t 
 really think they would blow up a ship?” : 
 
 “T have no doubt they would if they could. But I am 
 very sure they shall never blow up mine.” 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 239 
 
 “May I ask what precautions are taken against them?” 
 asked an elderly man at the end of the table. 
 
 “All goods sent aboard the ship are strictly exam- 
 ined,” said Captain Dowie. 
 
 “But suppose a man brought explosives aboard with 
 him?” I suggested. 
 
 “They are too cowardly to risk their own lives in 
 that way.” 
 
 During this conversation Flannigan had not betrayed 
 the slightest interest in what was going on. He raised 
 his head now and looked at the captain. 
 
 . “Don’t you think you are rather underrating them?” 
 
 he said. “Every secret society has produced desperate 
 men—why shouldn’t the Fenians have them, too? Many 
 men think it a privilege to die in the service of a cause 
 which seems right in their eyes, though others may think 
 it wrong.” 
 
 “Indiscriminate murder cannot be right in anybody’s 
 eyes,” said the little clergyman. 
 
 “The bombardment of Paris was nothing else,’ said 
 Flannigan; “yet the whole civilized world agreed to look 
 on with folded arms, and change the ugly word ‘murder’ 
 into the more euphonious one of ‘war.’ It seemed right 
 enough to German eyes. Why shouldn’t dynamite seem 
 so to the Fenian?” 
 
 “At any rate, their empty vaporings have led to noth- 
 ing as yet,” said the captain. 
 
 “Excuse me,” returned Flannigan, “but is there not 
 some room for doubt yet as to the fate of the ‘Dotterel ?’ 
 I have met men in America who asserted from their own 
 personal knowledge that there was a coal torpedo aboard 
 that vessel.” 
 
 “Then they lied,” said the captain. “It was proved con- 
 clusively at the court-martial to have arisen from an ex- 
 plosion of coal-gas—but we had better change the subject, 
 or we may cause the ladies to have a restless night ;” and 
 the conversation once more drifted back into its original 
 channel. 
 
 “After all,” I thought, as I gazed into the blue depths 
 
240 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 beneath me, “if the worst comes to the worst, it is better — 
 to die here than to linger in agony upona sick bed onland,” — 
 A man’s life seems a very paltry thing amid the great — 
 forces of Nature. All my philosophy could not prevent — 
 my shuddering, however, when | turned my head and © 
 saw two shadowy figures at the other side of the deck, — 
 which I had no difficulty in recognizing. They seemed — 
 to be conversing earnestly, but I had no opportunity of 
 overhearing what was said; so I contented myself with 
 pacing up and down, and keeping a vigilant watch upon — 
 their movements. 
 
 It was a relief to me when Dick came on deck. Even 
 an incredulous confidant is better than none at all. 
 
 “Well, old man,” he said, giving me a facetious dig 
 in the ribs, “we’ve not been blown up yet.” 
 “No, not yet,’‘said 1; “but that’s no proof that we are 
 
 not going to be.” 
 
 “Nonsense, man!’ said Dick; “I can’t conceive what 
 has put this extraordinary idea into your head. I have 
 been talking to one of your supposed assassins, and he 
 seems a pleasant fellow enough—dquite a sporting char- 
 acter, I should think, from the way he speaks.” 
 
 “Dick,” I said, “I am as certain that those men have 
 an infernal machine, and that we are on the verge of 
 eternity, as if I saw them putting the match to the fuse.” 
 
 “Well, if you really think so,” said Dick, half-awed 
 for the moment by the earnestness of my manner, “it 
 is your duty to let the captain know of your suspicions.” 
 
 “You are right,’ I said; “I will, My absurd timidity 
 has prevented my doing so sooner. I believe our lives 
 can only be saved by laying the whole matter before 
 him.” 
 
 “Well, go and do it now,” said Dick, “but for good- 
 ness’ sake don’t mix me up in the matter.” 
 
 “T’ll speak to him when he comes off the bridge,’ I 
 answered; “and in the meantime I don’t mean to lose 
 sight of them.” 
 
 “Let me know of the result,” said my companion; and © 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 241 
 
 with a nod he strolled away in search, I fancy, of his 
 partner at the dinner-table. 
 
 Left to myself, | bethought me of my retreat of the 
 morning, and climbing on the bulwark I mounted into 
 the quarter-boat and lay down there. In it I could re- 
 consider my course of action, and by raising my head 
 I was able at any time to get a view of my disagreeable 
 neighbors. 
 
 An hour passed, and the captain was still on the bridge. 
 He was talking to one of the passengers, a retired naval 
 officer, and the two were deep in debate concerning some 
 abstruse point in navigation. I could see the red tips of 
 their cigars from where I lay. It was dark now, so dark 
 that I could hardly make out the figures of Flannigan 
 and his accomplice. They were still standing in the posi- 
 tion which they had taken up after dinner. A few of the 
 passengers were scattered about the deck, but many had 
 gone below. A strange stillness seemed to pervade the 
 air. The voices of the watch and the rattle of the wheel 
 were the only sounds which broke the silence. 
 
 Another half-hour passed. The captain was still upon 
 the bridge. It seemed as if he would never come down. 
 My nerves were in a state of unnatural tension, so much 
 so that the sound of two steps upon the deck made me 
 start up in a quiver of excitement. I peered over the 
 edge of the boat, and saw that our suspicious passengers 
 had crossed from the other side, and were standing al- 
 most directly beneath me. The light of a binacle fell 
 full upon the ghastly face of the ruffan Flannigan. Even 
 in that short glance I saw that Muller had the ulster, 
 whose use I knew so well, slung loosely over his arm. I 
 sunk back with a groan. It seemed that my fatal pro- 
 crastination had sacrificed two hundred innocent lives. 
 
 “This place will do,” said a voice. 
 
 “Yes, the leeward side is best.” 
 
 “T wonder if the trigger will act?” 
 
 “T am sure it will.” 
 
 “We were to let it off at ten, were we not?” 
 
 “Yes, at ten sharp. We have eight minutes yet.” 
 There was a pause. Then the voice began again: 
 
242 A STUDY IN SCARLET 
 
 “They'll hear the drop of the trigger, won’t they?” 
 
 “It doesn’t matter. It will be too late for any one to 
 prevent its going off.” 
 
 “That’s true. There will be some excitement among 
 those we have left behind, won’t there?” 
 
 “Rather. How long do you reckon it will be before 
 they hear of us?” 
 
 “The first news will get in at about midnight, at ear- 
 liest.” 
 
 “That will be my doing.” 
 
 “No, mine.” 
 
 “Ha! ha! we'll settle that.” 
 
 There was a pause here. Then I heard Muller’s voice 
 in a ghastly whisper: “There’s only five minutes more.” 
 
 How slowly the moments seemed to pass! I could 
 count them by the throbbing of my heart. 
 
 “It'll make a sensation on land,” said a voice. 
 
 “Yes, it will make a noise in the newspapers.” 
 
 I raised my head and peered over the side of the boat. 
 There seemed no hope, no help. Death stared me in the 
 face, whether I did or did not give the alarm. The cap- 
 tain had at last left the bridge. The deck was deserted, 
 save for those two dark figures crouching in the shadow 
 of the boat. 
 
 Flannigan had a watch lying open in his hand. 
 
 “Three minutes more,” he said. “Put it down upon 
 the deck.” 
 
 “No; put it here on the bulwarks.” 
 
 It was the little square box. I knew by the sound 
 that they had placed it near the davit, and almost ex- 
 actly under my head. 
 
 I looked over again. Flannigan was pouring some- 
 thing out of a paper into his hand. It was white and 
 granular—the same that I had seen him use in the morn- 
 ing. It was meant as a fuse, no doubt, for he shoveled 
 it into the little box, and I heard the strange noise which 
 had previously arrested my attention. 
 
 “A minute and a half more,” he said. “Shall you 
 or I pull the string?” 
 
 “I will pull it,’ said Muller. 2 
 
A STUDY IN SCARLET 243 
 
 He was kneeling down and holding the end in his hand. 
 Flannigan stood behind with his arms folded, and an air 
 of grim resolution upon his face. 
 
 I could stand it no longer. My nervous system seemed 
 to give way in a moment. 
 
 “Stop!’ I screamed, springing to my feet. “Stop, 
 misguided and unprincipled men!” 
 
 They both staggered backward. I fancy they thought 
 I was a spirit, with the moonlight streaming down upon 
 my pale face. 
 
 I was brave enough now. I had gone too far to re- 
 treat. 
 
 “Cain was damned,” I cried, ‘and he slew but one; 
 would you have the blood of two hundred upon your 
 souls ?” 
 
 “He’s mad!” said Flannigan. ‘“Time’s up. Let it 
 off, Muller !” 
 
 I sprang down upon the deck. 
 
 “You sha’n’t do it!” I said. 
 
 “By what right do you prevent us?” 
 
 “By every right, human and divine.” 
 
 “Tt’s no business of yours. Clear out of this.” 
 
 “Never!” said I. 
 
 “Confound the fellow! There’s too much at stake 
 to stand on ceremony. I'll hold him, Muller, while you 
 pull the trigger.” 
 
 Next moment I was struggling in the herculean grasp 
 of the Irishman. Resistance was useless; I was a child 
 in his hands. 
 
 He pinned me up against the side of the vessel, and 
 held me there. 
 
 “Now,” he said, “look sharp. He can’t prevent us.” 
 
 I felt that I was standing on the verge of eternity. 
 Half-strangled in the arms of the taller ruffan, I saw 
 the other approach the fatal box. He stooped over it 
 and seized the string. I breathed one prayer when I 
 saw his grasp tighten upon it. Then came a sharp snap, 
 a strange, rasping noise. The trigger had fallen, the 
 side of the box flew out, and let off—two gray carrier 
 pigeons. 
 
244 A STUDY IN SCARLET i 
 
 Little more need be said. It is not a subject on which 
 I care to dwell. The whole thing is too utterly dis- 
 gusting and absurd. Perhaps the best thing I can do is to 
 retire gracefully from the scene, and let the sporting 
 correspondent of the New York “Herald” fill my un- 
 worthy place. Here is an extract clipped from its col- 
 umns shortly after our departure from America: 
 
 “Pigeon-flying extraordinary.—A novel match has 
 been brought off last week between the birds of John 
 H. Flannigan, of Boston, and Jeremiah Muller, a well- 
 known citizen of Lowell. Both men have devoted much 
 time and attention to an improved breed of bird, and 
 the challenge is an old-standing one. The pigeons were 
 backed to a large amount, and there was considerable 
 local interest in the result. The start was from the deck 
 of the transatlantic steamship ‘Spartan,’ at ten o’clock 
 on the evening of the day of starting, the vessel being 
 then reckoned to be about a hundred miles from the 
 land. The bird which reached home first was to be de- 
 clared the winner. Considerable caution had, we believe, 
 to be observed, as some captains have a prejudice against 
 the bringing off of sporting events aboard their vessels. 
 In spite of some little difficulty at the last moment, the 
 trap was sprung almost exactly at ten o’clock. Muller’s 
 bird arrived in Lowell in an extreme. state of 
 exhaustion on the following morning, while Flannigan’s 
 has not been heard of. The backers of the latter have 
 the satisfaction of knowing, however, that the whole affair 
 has been characterized by extreme fairness. The pigeons 
 were confined in a specially invented trap, which could 
 only be opened by the spring. It was thus possible to 
 feed them through an aperture in the top, but any tam- 
 pering with their wings was quite out of the question. 
 A few such matches would go far toward popularizing 
 pigeon-flying in America, and form an agreeable variety 
 to the morbid exhibitions of human endurance which have 
 assumed such proportions during the last few years.” 
 
 THE END - 
 
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