THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE 18 page

Date: 2015-10-07; view: 341.

near that line. You said ten miles, I think, sir."

"It was an hour's good drive."

"And you think that they brought you back all that way when you

were unconscious?"

"They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of having

been lifted and conveyed somewhere."

"What I cannot understand," said I, "is why they should have

spared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden.

Perhaps the villain was softened by the woman's entreaties."

"I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face

in my life."

"Oh, we shall soon clear up all that," said Bradstreet. "Well, I

have drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon

it the folk that we are in search of are to be found."

"I think I could lay my finger on it," said Holmes quietly.

"Really, now!" cried the inspector, "you have formed your

opinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is

south, for the country is more deserted there."

"And I say east," said my patient.

"I am for west," remarked the plain-clothes man. "There are

several quiet little villages up there."

"And I am for north," said I, "because there are no hills there,

and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up

any."

"Come," cried the inspector, laughing; "it's a very pretty

diversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do

you give your casting vote to?"

"You are all wrong."

"But we can't all be."

"Oh, yes, you can. This is my point." He placed his finger in the

centre of the circle. "This is where we shall find them."

"But the twelve-mile drive?" gasped Hatherley.

"Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that the

horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that

if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?"

"Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough," observed Bradstreet

thoughtfully. "Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature

of this gang."

"None at all," said Holmes. "They are coiners on a large scale,

and have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the

place of silver."

"We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work,"

said the inspector. "They have been turning out half-crowns by

the thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading, but could

get no farther, for they had covered their traces in a way that

showed that they were very old hands. But now, thanks to this

lucky chance, I think that we have got them right enough."

But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not

destined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into

Eyford Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed

up from behind a small clump of trees in the neighbourhood and

hung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.

"A house on fire?" asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off

again on its way.

"Yes, sir!" said the station-master.

"When did it break out?"

"I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse,

and the whole place is in a blaze."

"Whose house is it?"

"Dr. Becher's."

"Tell me," broke in the engineer, "is Dr. Becher a German, very

thin, with a long, sharp nose?"

The station-master laughed heartily. "No, sir, Dr. Becher is an

Englishman, and there isn't a man in the parish who has a

better-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him,

a patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as

if a little good Berkshire beef would do him no harm."

The station-master had not finished his speech before we were all

hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low

hill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in

front of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in

the garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to

keep the flames under.

"That's it!" cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. "There is

the gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That

second window is the one that I jumped from."

"Well, at least," said Holmes, "you have had your revenge upon

them. There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which,

when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls,

though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you to

observe it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for

your friends of last night, though I very much fear that they are

a good hundred miles off by now."

And Holmes' fears came to be realised, for from that day to this

no word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the

sinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a

peasant had met a cart containing several people and some very

bulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but

there all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes'

ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their

whereabouts.

The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements

which they had found within, and still more so by discovering a

newly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor.

About sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and

they subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in,

and the whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save

some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of

the machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so

dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored

in an out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have

explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been

already referred to.

How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to

the spot where he recovered his senses might have remained

forever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a

very plain tale. He had evidently been carried down by two

persons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the other

unusually large ones. On the whole, it was most probable that the

silent Englishman, being less bold or less murderous than his

companion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious man out

of the way of danger.

"Well," said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return

once more to London, "it has been a pretty business for me! I

have lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what

have I gained?"

"Experience," said Holmes, laughing. "Indirectly it may be of

value, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the

reputation of being excellent company for the remainder of your

existence."

X. THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR

The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have

long ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles

in which the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have

eclipsed it, and their more piquant details have drawn the

gossips away from this four-year-old drama. As I have reason to

believe, however, that the full facts have never been revealed to

the general public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes had a

considerable share in clearing the matter up, I feel that no

memoir of him would be complete without some little sketch of

this remarkable episode.

It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I

was still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came

home from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table

waiting for him. I had remained indoors all day, for the weather

had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and

the Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as

a relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence.

With my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, I had

surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last,

saturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all aside and

lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the

envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend's

noble correspondent could be.

"Here is a very fashionable epistle," I remarked as he entered.

"Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a

fish-monger and a tide-waiter."

"Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety," he

answered, smiling, "and the humbler are usually the more

interesting. This looks like one of those unwelcome social

summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie."

He broke the seal and glanced over the contents.

"Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all."

"Not social, then?"

"No, distinctly professional."

"And from a noble client?"

"One of the highest in England."

"My dear fellow, I congratulate you."

"I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my

client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his

case. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be

wanting in this new investigation. You have been reading the

papers diligently of late, have you not?"

"It looks like it," said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in

the corner. "I have had nothing else to do."

"It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I

read nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The

latter is always instructive. But if you have followed recent

events so closely you must have read about Lord St. Simon and his

wedding?"

"Oh, yes, with the deepest interest."

"That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord

St. Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn

over these papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter.

This is what he says:

"'MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:--Lord Backwater tells me that I

may place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I

have determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you

in reference to the very painful event which has occurred in

connection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is

acting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no

objection to your co-operation, and that he even thinks that

it might be of some assistance. I will call at four o'clock in

the afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that

time, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of

paramount importance. Yours faithfully, ST. SIMON.'

"It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen,

and the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink

upon the outer side of his right little finger," remarked Holmes

as he folded up the epistle.

"He says four o'clock. It is three now. He will be here in an

hour."

"Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon

the subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in

their order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client

is." He picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of

reference beside the mantelpiece. "Here he is," said he, sitting

down and flattening it out upon his knee. "'Lord Robert Walsingham

de Vere St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral.' Hum! 'Arms:

Azure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable. Born in 1846.'

He's forty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage. Was

Under-Secretary for the colonies in a late administration. The

Duke, his father, was at one time Secretary for Foreign Affairs.

They inherit Plantagenet blood by direct descent, and Tudor on

the distaff side. Ha! Well, there is nothing very instructive in

all this. I think that I must turn to you Watson, for something

more solid."

"I have very little difficulty in finding what I want," said I,

"for the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as

remarkable. I feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew

that you had an inquiry on hand and that you disliked the

intrusion of other matters."

"Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square

furniture van. That is quite cleared up now--though, indeed, it

was obvious from the first. Pray give me the results of your

newspaper selections."

"Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal

column of the Morning Post, and dates, as you see, some weeks

back: 'A marriage has been arranged,' it says, 'and will, if

rumour is correct, very shortly take place, between Lord Robert

St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hatty

Doran, the only daughter of Aloysius Doran. Esq., of San

Francisco, Cal., U.S.A.' That is all."

"Terse and to the point," remarked Holmes, stretching his long,

thin legs towards the fire.

"There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society

papers of the same week. Ah, here it is: 'There will soon be a

call for protection in the marriage market, for the present

free-trade principle appears to tell heavily against our home

product. One by one the management of the noble houses of Great

Britain is passing into the hands of our fair cousins from across

the Atlantic. An important addition has been made during the last

week to the list of the prizes which have been borne away by

these charming invaders. Lord St. Simon, who has shown himself

for over twenty years proof against the little god's arrows, has

now definitely announced his approaching marriage with Miss Hatty

Doran, the fascinating daughter of a California millionaire. Miss

Doran, whose graceful figure and striking face attracted much

attention at the Westbury House festivities, is an only child,

and it is currently reported that her dowry will run to

considerably over the six figures, with expectancies for the

future. As it is an open secret that the Duke of Balmoral has

been compelled to sell his pictures within the last few years,

and as Lord St. Simon has no property of his own save the small

estate of Birchmoor, it is obvious that the Californian heiress

is not the only gainer by an alliance which will enable her to

make the easy and common transition from a Republican lady to a

British peeress.'"

"Anything else?" asked Holmes, yawning.

"Oh, yes; plenty. Then there is another note in the Morning Post

to say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it

would be at St. George's, Hanover Square, that only half a dozen

intimate friends would be invited, and that the party would

return to the furnished house at Lancaster Gate which has been

taken by Mr. Aloysius Doran. Two days later--that is, on

Wednesday last--there is a curt announcement that the wedding had

taken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lord

Backwater's place, near Petersfield. Those are all the notices

which appeared before the disappearance of the bride."

"Before the what?" asked Holmes with a start.

"The vanishing of the lady."

"When did she vanish, then?"

"At the wedding breakfast."

"Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be; quite

dramatic, in fact."

"Yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common."

"They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during

the honeymoon; but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt

as this. Pray let me have the details."

"I warn you that they are very incomplete."

"Perhaps we may make them less so."

"Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a

morning paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is

headed, 'Singular Occurrence at a Fashionable Wedding':

"'The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown into the

greatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes which

have taken place in connection with his wedding. The ceremony, as

shortly announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the

previous morning; but it is only now that it has been possible to

confirm the strange rumours which have been so persistently

floating about. In spite of the attempts of the friends to hush

the matter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it

that no good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what

is a common subject for conversation.

"'The ceremony, which was performed at St. George's, Hanover

Square, was a very quiet one, no one being present save the

father of the bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the Duchess of Balmoral,

Lord Backwater, Lord Eustace and Lady Clara St. Simon (the

younger brother and sister of the bridegroom), and Lady Alicia

Whittington. The whole party proceeded afterwards to the house of

Mr. Aloysius Doran, at Lancaster Gate, where breakfast had been

prepared. It appears that some little trouble was caused by a

woman, whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavoured to

force her way into the house after the bridal party, alleging

that she had some claim upon Lord St. Simon. It was only after a

painful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the butler

and the footman. The bride, who had fortunately entered the house

before this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast

with the rest, when she complained of a sudden indisposition and

retired to her room. Her prolonged absence having caused some

comment, her father followed her, but learned from her maid that

she had only come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up an

ulster and bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. One of the

footmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the house thus

apparelled, but had refused to credit that it was his mistress,

believing her to be with the company. On ascertaining that his

daughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Doran, in conjunction with

the bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communication with

the police, and very energetic inquiries are being made, which

will probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very

singular business. Up to a late hour last night, however, nothing

had transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady. There

are rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the

police have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused the

original disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or some

other motive, she may have been concerned in the strange

disappearance of the bride.'"

"And is that all?"

"Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is

a suggestive one."

"And it is--"

"That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance,

has actually been arrested. It appears that she was formerly a

danseuse at the Allegro, and that she has known the bridegroom

for some years. There are no further particulars, and the whole

case is in your hands now--so far as it has been set forth in the

public press."

"And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would

not have missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell,

Watson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I

have no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. Do not

dream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness,

if only as a check to my own memory."

"Lord Robert St. Simon," announced our page-boy, throwing open

the door. A gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face,

high-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of petulance about

the mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose

pleasant lot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. His

manner was brisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue

impression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little

bend of the knees as he walked. His hair, too, as he swept off

his very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin

upon the top. As to his dress, it was careful to the verge of

foppishness, with high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat,

yellow gloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured gaiters.

He advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left to

right, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his

golden eyeglasses.

"Good-day, Lord St. Simon," said Holmes, rising and bowing. "Pray

take the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr.

Watson. Draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this

matter over."

"A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine,

Mr. Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you

have already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir,

though I presume that they were hardly from the same class of

society."

"No, I am descending."

"I beg pardon."

"My last client of the sort was a king."

"Oh, really! I had no idea. And which king?"

"The King of Scandinavia."

"What! Had he lost his wife?"

"You can understand," said Holmes suavely, "that I extend to the

affairs of my other clients the same secrecy which I promise to

you in yours."

"Of course! Very right! very right! I'm sure I beg pardon. As to

my own case, I am ready to give you any information which may

assist you in forming an opinion."

"Thank you. I have already learned all that is in the public

prints, nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct--

this article, for example, as to the disappearance of the bride."

Lord St. Simon glanced over it. "Yes, it is correct, as far as it

goes."

"But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could

offer an opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts most

directly by questioning you."

"Pray do so."

"When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?"

"In San Francisco, a year ago."

"You were travelling in the States?"

"Yes."

"Did you become engaged then?"

"No."

"But you were on a friendly footing?"

"I was amused by her society, and she could see that I was

amused."

"Her father is very rich?"

"He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific slope."

"And how did he make his money?"

"In mining. He had nothing a few years ago. Then he struck gold,

invested it, and came up by leaps and bounds."

"Now, what is your own impression as to the young lady's--your

wife's character?"

The nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down

into the fire. "You see, Mr. Holmes," said he, "my wife was

twenty before her father became a rich man. During that time she

ran free in a mining camp and wandered through woods or

mountains, so that her education has come from Nature rather than

from the schoolmaster. She is what we call in England a tomboy,

with a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any sort of

traditions. She is impetuous--volcanic, I was about to say. She

is swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out her

resolutions. On the other hand, I would not have given her the

name which I have the honour to bear"--he gave a little stately

cough--"had not I thought her to be at bottom a noble woman. I

believe that she is capable of heroic self-sacrifice and that

anything dishonourable would be repugnant to her."

"Have you her photograph?"

"I brought this with me." He opened a locket and showed us the

full face of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph but an

ivory miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect

of the lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes, and the

exquisite mouth. Holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. Then he

closed the locket and handed it back to Lord St. Simon.

"The young lady came to London, then, and you renewed your

acquaintance?"

"Yes, her father brought her over for this last London season. I

met her several times, became engaged to her, and have now

married her."

"She brought, I understand, a considerable dowry?"

"A fair dowry. Not more than is usual in my family."

"And this, of course, remains to you, since the marriage is a

fait accompli?"

"I really have made no inquiries on the subject."

"Very naturally not. Did you see Miss Doran on the day before the

wedding?"

"Yes."

"Was she in good spirits?"

"Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in our

future lives."