THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE 14 page

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the police might not take it into their heads to search me and my

room. There was no place about the hotel where it would be safe.

I went out, as if on some commission, and I made for my sister's

house. She had married a man named Oakshott, and lived in Brixton

Road, where she fattened fowls for the market. All the way there

every man I met seemed to me to be a policeman or a detective;

and, for all that it was a cold night, the sweat was pouring down

my face before I came to the Brixton Road. My sister asked me

what was the matter, and why I was so pale; but I told her that I

had been upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went

into the back yard and smoked a pipe and wondered what it would

be best to do.

"I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, and

has just been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had met

me, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and how they

could get rid of what they stole. I knew that he would be true to

me, for I knew one or two things about him; so I made up my mind

to go right on to Kilburn, where he lived, and take him into my

confidence. He would show me how to turn the stone into money.

But how to get to him in safety? I thought of the agonies I had

gone through in coming from the hotel. I might at any moment be

seized and searched, and there would be the stone in my waistcoat

pocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking at

the geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly

an idea came into my head which showed me how I could beat the

best detective that ever lived.

"My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have the

pick of her geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that she

was always as good as her word. I would take my goose now, and in

it I would carry my stone to Kilburn. There was a little shed in

the yard, and behind this I drove one of the birds--a fine big

one, white, with a barred tail. I caught it, and prying its bill

open, I thrust the stone down its throat as far as my finger

could reach. The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone pass

along its gullet and down into its crop. But the creature flapped

and struggled, and out came my sister to know what was the

matter. As I turned to speak to her the brute broke loose and

fluttered off among the others.

"'Whatever were you doing with that bird, Jem?' says she.

"'Well,' said I, 'you said you'd give me one for Christmas, and I

was feeling which was the fattest.'

"'Oh,' says she, 'we've set yours aside for you--Jem's bird, we

call it. It's the big white one over yonder. There's twenty-six

of them, which makes one for you, and one for us, and two dozen

for the market.'

"'Thank you, Maggie,' says I; 'but if it is all the same to you,

I'd rather have that one I was handling just now.'

"'The other is a good three pound heavier,' said she, 'and we

fattened it expressly for you.'

"'Never mind. I'll have the other, and I'll take it now,' said I.

"'Oh, just as you like,' said she, a little huffed. 'Which is it

you want, then?'

"'That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the

flock.'

"'Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.'

"Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird

all the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was

a man that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed

until he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. My

heart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I

knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird,

rushed back to my sister's, and hurried into the back yard. There

was not a bird to be seen there.

"'Where are they all, Maggie?' I cried.

"'Gone to the dealer's, Jem.'

"'Which dealer's?'

"'Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.'

"'But was there another with a barred tail?' I asked, 'the same

as the one I chose?'

"'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never

tell them apart.'

"Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my

feet would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold the

lot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they

had gone. You heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has always

answered me like that. My sister thinks that I am going mad.

Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now--and now I am myself

a branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which

I sold my character. God help me! God help me!" He burst into

convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.

There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and

by the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes' finger-tips upon the

edge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.

"Get out!" said he.

"What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!"

"No more words. Get out!"

And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon

the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running

footfalls from the street.

"After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his

clay pipe, "I am not retained by the police to supply their

deficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be another thing;

but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must

collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just

possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong

again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to gaol now, and

you make him a gaol-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of

forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and

whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you

will have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin

another investigation, in which, also a bird will be the chief

feature."

VIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLED BAND

On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I

have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend

Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number

merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did

rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of

wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation

which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic.

Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which

presented more singular features than that which was associated

with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran.

The events in question occurred in the early days of my

association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors

in Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them

upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the

time, from which I have only been freed during the last month by

the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It

is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I

have reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the

death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even

more terrible than the truth.

It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning to

find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my

bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the

mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I

blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little

resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.

"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the

common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she

retorted upon me, and I on you."

"What is it, then--a fire?"

"No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a

considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She

is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander

about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock

sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is

something very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it

prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to

follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should

call you and give you the chance."

"My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything."

I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his

professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid

deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a

logical basis with which he unravelled the problems which were

submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in

a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A

lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in

the window, rose as we entered.

"Good-morning, madam," said Holmes cheerily. "My name is Sherlock

Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson,

before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am

glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light the

fire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot

coffee, for I observe that you are shivering."

"It is not cold which makes me shiver," said the woman in a low

voice, changing her seat as requested.

"What, then?"

"It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror." She raised her veil as

she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable

state of agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless

frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features

and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot

with premature grey, and her expression was weary and haggard.

Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick,

all-comprehensive glances.

"You must not fear," said he soothingly, bending forward and

patting her forearm. "We shall soon set matters right, I have no

doubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see."

"You know me, then?"

"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm

of your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had

a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached

the station."

The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my

companion.

"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling. "The left

arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven

places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a

dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you

sit on the left-hand side of the driver."

"Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct," said

she. "I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at

twenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I

can stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues.

I have no one to turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me,

and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you,

Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you

helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had

your address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me,

too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness

which surrounds me? At present it is out of my power to reward

you for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall be

married, with the control of my own income, and then at least you

shall not find me ungrateful."

Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small

case-book, which he consulted.

"Farintosh," said he. "Ah yes, I recall the case; it was

concerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time,

Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote

the same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As to

reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty

to defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which

suits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before us

everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the

matter."

"Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situation

lies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions

depend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to

another, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to

look for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it

as the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can

read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have

heard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold

wickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amid

the dangers which encompass me."

"I am all attention, madam."

"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who

is the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in

England, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of

Surrey."

Holmes nodded his head. "The name is familiar to me," said he.

"The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the

estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north,

and Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four

successive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition,

and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the

days of the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground,

and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under

a heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence

there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but

his only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to

the new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which

enabled him to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta,

where, by his professional skill and his force of character, he

established a large practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused

by some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he

beat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital

sentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and

afterwards returned to England a morose and disappointed man.

"When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner,

the young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery.

My sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old

at the time of my mother's re-marriage. She had a considerable

sum of money--not less than 1000 pounds a year--and this she

bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with him,

with a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed to

each of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after our return

to England my mother died--she was killed eight years ago in a

railway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his

attempts to establish himself in practice in London and took us

to live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The

money which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and

there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.

"But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time.

Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our

neighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of

Stoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in

his house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious

quarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violence of temper

approaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the

family, and in my stepfather's case it had, I believe, been

intensified by his long residence in the tropics. A series of

disgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the

police-court, until at last he became the terror of the village,

and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of

immense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.

"Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a

stream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I

could gather together that I was able to avert another public

exposure. He had no friends at all save the wandering gipsies,

and he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few

acres of bramble-covered land which represent the family estate,

and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents,

wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. He has a

passion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by a

correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon,

which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by the

villagers almost as much as their master.

"You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I

had no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with

us, and for a long time we did all the work of the house. She was

but thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already

begun to whiten, even as mine has."

"Your sister is dead, then?"

"She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish

to speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I

have described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own

age and position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother's maiden

sister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we

were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady's

house. Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met there

a half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. My

stepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and

offered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of

the day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event

occurred which has deprived me of my only companion."

Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes

closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his

lids now and glanced across at his visitor.

"Pray be precise as to details," said he.

"It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful

time is seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have

already said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The

bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms

being in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms

the first is Dr. Roylott's, the second my sister's, and the third

my own. There is no communication between them, but they all open

out into the same corridor. Do I make myself plain?"

"Perfectly so."

"The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That

fatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we

knew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled

by the smell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom

to smoke. She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where

she sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. At

eleven o'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door

and looked back.

"'Tell me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone whistle

in the dead of the night?'

"'Never,' said I.

"'I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in

your sleep?'

"'Certainly not. But why?'

"'Because during the last few nights I have always, about three

in the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper,

and it has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from--perhaps

from the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would

just ask you whether you had heard it.'

"'No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in the

plantation.'

"'Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you

did not hear it also.'

"'Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.'

"'Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.' She smiled

back at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her

key turn in the lock."

"Indeed," said Holmes. "Was it your custom always to lock

yourselves in at night?"

"Always."

"And why?"

"I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah

and a baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were

locked."

"Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement."

"I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending

misfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect,

were twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two

souls which are so closely allied. It was a wild night. The wind

was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing

against the windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale,

there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. I knew

that it was my sister's voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a

shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I opened my door

I seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and

a few moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had

fallen. As I ran down the passage, my sister's door was unlocked,

and revolved slowly upon its hinges. I stared at it

horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue from it. By

the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appear at the

opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for

help, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a

drunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that

moment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to the ground.

She writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were

dreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that she had not

recognised me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out

in a voice which I shall never forget, 'Oh, my God! Helen! It was

the band! The speckled band!' There was something else which she

would fain have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the

air in the direction of the doctor's room, but a fresh convulsion

seized her and choked her words. I rushed out, calling loudly for

my stepfather, and I met him hastening from his room in his

dressing-gown. When he reached my sister's side she was

unconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent

for medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for

she slowly sank and died without having recovered her

consciousness. Such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister."

"One moment," said Holmes, "are you sure about this whistle and

metallic sound? Could you swear to it?"

"That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It is

my strong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash of

the gale and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have

been deceived."

"Was your sister dressed?"

"No, she was in her night-dress. In her right hand was found the

charred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box."

"Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when

the alarm took place. That is important. And what conclusions did

the coroner come to?"

"He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott's

conduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was unable

to find any satisfactory cause of death. My evidence showed that

the door had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows

were blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars,

which were secured every night. The walls were carefully sounded,

and were shown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was

also thoroughly examined, with the same result. The chimney is

wide, but is barred up by four large staples. It is certain,

therefore, that my sister was quite alone when she met her end.

Besides, there were no marks of any violence upon her."

"How about poison?"

"The doctors examined her for it, but without success."

"What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?"

"It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock,

though what it was that frightened her I cannot imagine."

"Were there gipsies in the plantation at the time?"

"Yes, there are nearly always some there."

"Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band--a

speckled band?"

"Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of

delirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band of

people, perhaps to these very gipsies in the plantation. I do not

know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wear

over their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which

she used."

Holmes shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied.

"These are very deep waters," said he; "pray go on with your

narrative."

"Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until

lately lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend,

whom I have known for many years, has done me the honour to ask

my hand in marriage. His name is Armitage--Percy Armitage--the

second son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My

stepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to

be married in the course of the spring. Two days ago some repairs

were started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom