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The Man with the Twisted Lip - Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle · Adventure Books Library

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The man with the twisted lip. Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias
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Whitney, d d. Principle of the Theological College of Saint George's, was
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much addicted to opium. The habit grew upon him, as I understand,
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from some foolish freak when he was at college, for having read de Quincey's
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description of his dreams and sensations, he had drenched his tobacco with laudanum in
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an attempt to produce the same effects. He found, as so many more
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have done, that the practice is easier to attain than to get rid of,
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And for many years he continued to be a slave to the drug,
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an object of mingled horror and pity to his friends and relatives. I can
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see him now, with yellow pasty face, drooping lids, and pin point
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pupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble
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man. One night, it was in June eighty nine, there came a
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ring to my bell, about the hour when a man gives his first yawn
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and glances at the clock. I sat up in my chair, and my
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wife laid her needlework down in her lap, and made a little face of
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disappointment. A patient said she you'll have to go out. I groaned,
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for I was newly come back from a weary day. We heard the door
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open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps upon the linoleum.
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Our own door flew open, and a lady clad in some dark colored stuff
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with a black veil, entered the room. You will excuse me calling so
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late, she began, and then, suddenly losing her self control, she
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ran forward, threw her arms about my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her
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shoulder. Oh I am in such trouble, she cried. I do so
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want a little help. Why, said my wife, pulling up her veil.
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It is Kate Whitney. How you startled me? Kate, I had
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not an idea who you were when you came in. I didn't know what
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to do, so I came straight to you. That was always the way
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folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to a lighthouse.
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It was very sweet of you to come. Now. You must have some
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wine and water and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or
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should you rather that? I sent James off to bed. Oh no,
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no, I want the doctor's advice. And help too. It's about Isa.
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He has not been home for two days. I'm so frightened about him.
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It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her
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husband's trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old
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friend and school companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words as we
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could find. Did she know where her husband was? Was it possible that
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we could bring him back to her? It seems that it was. She
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had the surest information that of late he had when the fit was on him,
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made use of an opium den in the farthest east of the city.
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Hitherto his orgies had always been confined to one day, and he'd come back
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twitching and shattered in the evening. But now the spell had been upon him
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eight and forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the dregs of
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the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the effects. There he
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was to be found, she was sure of it, at the bar of
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Gold in Upper Swandham Lane. But what was she to do? How could
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she, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place
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and pluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him. There was
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the case, and of course there was but one way out of it.
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Might I not escort her to this place? And then, as a second
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thought, why should she come at all? I was Asa Whitney's medical adviser,
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and as such I had influence over him. I could manage it better
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if I were alone. I promised her on my word that I would send
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him home in a cab within two hours if he were indeed at the address
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which she had given me, And so in ten minutes I had left my
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arm chair and cheery sitting room behind me, and was speeding eastward in a
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hansom on a strange errand, as it seemed to me at the time,
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though the future only could show how strange it was to be. But there
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was no great difficulty in the first stage of my adventure. Upper Swandam Lane
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is a vile alley lurking behind the high wharves which line the north side of
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the river to the east of London Bridge, between a slop shop and a
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gin shop. Approached by a steep flight of steps leading down to a black
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gap like the mouth of a cave. I found the den of which I
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was in search ordering my cab to wait, I passed down the steps,
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worn hollow in the center by the ceaseless tread of drunken feet, and by
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the light of a flickering oil lamp above the door. I found the latch
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and made my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with
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the brown opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the forecastle of
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an emigrant ship. Through the gloom, one could dimly catch a glimpse of
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bodies lying in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown
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back, and chin pointing upward, with here and there a dark, lackluster
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eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black shadows, there glimmered little
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red circles of light, now bright, now faint, as the burning poison
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waxed or waned. In the bowls of the metal pipes. The most lay
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silent, but some muttered to themselves, and others talked together in a strange,
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low, monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes and then suddenly tailing
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off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying little heed to
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the words of his neighbor. At the farther end was a small brazier of
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burning charcoal, beside which on a three legged wooden stool, there sat a
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tall, thin old man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists and
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his elbows upon his knees, staring into the fire. As I entered,
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a sallow malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe for me and a supply
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of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth, thank you. I
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have not come to stay. There is a friend of mine here, mister
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Isa Whitney, and I wished to speak with him. There was a movement
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and an exclamation from my right, and peering through the gloom, I saw
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Whitney, pale, haggard and unkempt, staring out at me. My god,
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it's Watson, said he. He was in a pitiable state of reaction,
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with every nerve in a twitter. I say, Watson, what o'clock
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is it? Nearly eleven of what day of Friday, June nineteenth? Good
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heavens, I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What do you
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want to frighten a chap for He sank his face unto his arms and began
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to sob in a high treble key. I tell you that it is Friday.
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Man. Your wife has been waiting this two days for you. You
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should be ashamed of yourself, so I am. But you've got mixed,
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Watson, for I've only been here a few hours. Three pipes, four
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pipes, I forget how many. But I'll go home with you. I
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wouldn't frighten Kate, poor little Kate. Give me your hand, and have
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you a cab? Yes, I have one waiting. Then I shall go
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in it. But I must owe something, find what I owe, Watson.
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I am all off color. I can do nothing for myself. I
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walked down the narrow passage between the double row of sleepers, holding my breath
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to keep out the vile, stupefying fumes of the drug, and looking about
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for the manager. As I passed the tall man who sat by the brazier,
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I felt a sudden pluck at my skirt, and a low voice whispered
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walk past me, and then look back at me. The words fell quite
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distinctly upon my ear. I glanced down. They could only have come from
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the old man at my side. And yet he sat now as absorbed as
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ever, very thin, very wrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe
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dangling down from between his knees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude
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from his fingers. I took two steps forward and looked back. It took
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all my self control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of astonishment.
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He turned his back so that none could see him but I. His
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form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull eyes had regained
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their fire, And there, sitting by the fire and grinning at my surprise,
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was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He made a slight motion to me
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to approach him, and instantly as he turned his face half round to the
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company, once more subsided into a doddering, loose lipped senility. Holmes,
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I whispered, what on earth are you doing in this den? As low
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as you can, he answered, I have excellent ears. If you would
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have the great kindness to get rid of that sawtish friend of yours, I
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should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with you. I have a
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cab outside, then pray send him home in it. You may safely trust
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him, for he appears to be too limp to get into any mischief.
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I should recommend you also to send a note by the cabman to your wife
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to say that you have thrown in your lot with me. If you will
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wait outside, I shall be with you in five minutes. It was difficult
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to refuse any of Sherlock Holmbs's requests, for they were always so exceedingly definite
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and put forward with such a quiet air of mastery. I felt, however,
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that when Whitney was once confined in the cab, my mission was practically
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accomplished, and for the rest I could not wish anything better than to be
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associated with my friend in one of those singular adventures which were the normal condition
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of his existence. In a few minutes, I had written my note,
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paid Whitney's bill, led him out to the cab, and seen him driven
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through the darkness. In a very short time, a decrepit figure had emerged
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from the opium den, and I was walking down the street with Sherlock Holmes
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for two streets. He shuffled along with a bend back and an uncertain foot.
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Then, glancing quickly round, he straightened himself out and burst into a
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hearty fit of laughter. I suppose Watson said he that you imagine that I
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have added opium smoking, to cocaine injections, and all the other little weaknesses
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on which you have favored me with your medical views. I was certainly surprised
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to find you there, but not more so than I to find you.
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I came to find a friend, and I to find an enemy, an
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enemy, yes, one of my natural enemies, or shall I say my
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natural prey? Briefly, Watson, I am in the midst of a very
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remarkable inquiry, and I have hoped to find a clue in the incoherent ramblings
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of these sots, as I have done before. Now. Had I been
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recognized in that den, my life would not have been worth an hour's purchase.
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For I have used it before now for my own purposes, and the
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rascally lascar who runs it has sworn to have vengeance upon me. There is
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a trap door at the back of that building, near the corner of Paul's
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Wharf, which could tell some strange tales of what has passed through it upon
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the moonless nights. What you do not mean bodies? Aye, bodies,
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Watson. We should be rich men if we had a thousand pounds of every
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poor devil who had been done to death in that den. It is the
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vilest murder trap on the whole river side. And I fear that Neville Saint
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Clair has entered it, never to leave it more. But our trap should
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be here. He put his two forefingers between his teeth and whistled shrilly,
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a signal, which was answered by a similar whistle from the distance, followed
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shortly by the rattle of wheels and the clink of horses hoofs now. Watson,
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said Holmes, as a tall dog cart dashed up through the gloom,
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throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from its side. Lands. You'll
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come with me, won't you? If I can be of use. Oh,
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A trusty comrade is always of use, and a chronicler still more so.
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My room at the Cedars is a double bedded one the Cedars. Yes,
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that is mister Saint Clair's house. I am staying there while I conduct
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the inquiry. Where is it then, near Lee in Kent? We have
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a seven mile drive before us. But I am all in the dark.
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Of course you are. You'll know all about it presently. Jump up here,
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all right, John, we shall not need you. Here's half a
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crown look out for me. Tomorrow about eleven, give her her head so
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long. Then he flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away
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through the endless succession of somber and deserted streets, which widened gradually until we
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were flying across a broad, balustraded bridge, with the murky river flowing sluggishly
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beneath us. Beyond lay another dull wilderness of bricks and mortar, its silence
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broken only by the heavy regular footfall of the policeman, or the songs and
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shouts of some belated party of revelers. A dull rack was drifting slowly across
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the sky, and a star or two twinkled dimly here and there through the
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rifts of the clouds. Holmes drove in silence, with his head sunk upon
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his breast, and the air of a man who is lost in thought,
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while I sat beside him, curious to learn what this new quest might be,
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which seemed to tax his powers so sorely, and yet afraid to break
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in upon the current of his thoughts. We had driven several miles and were
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beginning to get to the fringe of the belt of suburban villas when he shook
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himself shrugged his shoulders and lit up his pipe with the air of a man
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who is satisfied himself that he is acting for the best. You have a
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grand gift of silence, Watson said he. It makes you quite invaluable as
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a companion. Upon my word, it is a great thing for me to
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have some one to talk to for my own thoughts are not over pleasant.
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I was wondering what I should say to this dear little woman to night when
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she meets me at the door. You forget that I know nothing about it.
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I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before
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we get to Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet somehow I can
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get nothing to go upon. There's plenty of thread, no doubt, but
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I can't get the end of it into my hand. Now I'll state the
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case clearly and concisely to you, Watson, and maybe you can see a
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spark where all is dark to me. Proceed then, some years ago to
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be definite. In May eighteen eighty four, there came to Lee a gentleman
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Neville, Saint Clair by name, who appeared to have plenty of money.
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He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very nicely, and lived
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generally in good style. By degrees, he made friends in the neighborhood,
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and in eighteen eighty seven he married the daughter of a local brewer, by
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whom he now has two children. He had no occupation, but was interested
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in several companies, and went into town as a rule in the morning,
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returning by the five fourteen from Cannon Street every night. Mister Saint Clair is
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now thirty seven years of age, is a man of temperate habits, a
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good husband, a very affectionate father, and a man who's popular with all
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who know him. I may add that his whole debts at the present moment,
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as far as we have been able to ascertain, amount to eighty eight
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pounds ten shillings, while he has two hundred twenty pounds standing to his credit
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in the Capital and County's bank. There is no reason, therefore to think
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that money troubles have been weighing upon his mind. Last Monday, mister Neville
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Saint Clair went into town rather earlier than usual, remarking before he started that
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he had two important commissions to perform, and that he would bring his little
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boy home a box of bricks. Now by the merest chance. His wife
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received a telegram upon this same Monday, very shortly after his departure, to
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the effect that a small parcel of considerable value, which she had been expecting,
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was waiting for her the offices of the Aberdeen Shipping Company. Now,
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if you are well up in your London, you will know that the office
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of the company is in Fresno Street, which branches out of upper Swandham Lane,
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where you found me. To night, Missus Saint Clair had her lunch,
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started for the city, did some shopping, proceeded to the company's office,
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got her packet, and found herself at exactly four thirty five walking through
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Swandham Lane on her way back to the station. Have you followed me so
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far? It is very clear if you remember. Monday was an exceedingly hot
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day, and Missus Saint Clair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of
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seeing it cab, as she did not like the neighborhood in which she found
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herself. While she was walking in this way down Swandham Lane, she suddenly
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heard an ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her husband looking
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down at her, and, as it seemed to her beckoning to her from
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a second floor window. The window was open, and she distinctly saw his
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face, which she describes as being terribly agitated. He waved his hands frantically
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to her, and then vanished from the window, so suddenly that it seemed
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to her that he had been plucked back by some irresistible force from behind.
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One singular point which struck her quite feminine eye was that, although he wore
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some dark coat, such as he had started to town in, he had
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on neither collar nor necktie. Convinced that something was amiss with him, she
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rushed down the steps, for the house was none other than the opium den
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in which you found me to night, and running through the front room,
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she attempted to ascend the stairs, which led to the first floor. At
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the foot of the stairs, however, she met this less scar scoundrel of
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whom I have spoken, who thrust her back, and, aided by a
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Dane who acts as assistant, there pushed her out into the street. Filled
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with the most maddening doubts and fears, she rushed down the lane, and,
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by rare good fortune, met in Fresno Street a number of constables with
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an inspector, all on their way to their beat. The inspector and two
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men accompanied her back, and in spite of the continued resistance of the proprietor,
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they made their way up to the room in which mister Saint Clair had
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last been seen. There was no sign of him there. In fact,
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in the whole of that floor, there was no one to be seen save
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a crippled wretch of hideous aspect, who it seems made his home there.
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Both he and the lascar stoutly swore that no one else had been in the
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front room during the afternoon. So determined was their denial that the Inspector was
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staggered and had almost come to believe that missus Sinclair had been deluded, when
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with a cry, she sprang at a small deal box which lay upon the
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table, and tore the lid from it. Out there fell a cascade of
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children's bricks. It was a toy which he had promised to bring home.
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This discovery and the evident confusion which the cripple showed, made the inspector realize
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that the matter was serious. The rooms were carefully examined, and results all
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pointed to an abominable crime. The front room was plainly furnished, as a
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sitting room, and led into a small bedroom which looked out upon the back
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of one of the wharves. Between the wharf and the bedroom window is a
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narrow strip which is dry and low tide, but is covered at high tide
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with at least four and a half feet of water. The bedroom window was
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a broad one and opened from below. On examination, traces of blood were
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to be seen upon the window sill, and several scattered drops were visible upon
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the wooden floor of the bedroom. Thrust away behind a curtain in the front
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room were all the clothes of mister Neville Saint Clair, with the exception of
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his coat, his boots, his socks, his hat, and his watch
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all were there. There were no signs of violence upon any of these garments,
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and there were no other traces of mister Neville Saint Clair out of the
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window. He must apparently have gone for no other excit could be discovered,
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and the ominous blood stains upon the sill gave little promise that he could save
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himself by swimming, for the tide was at its very highest at the moment
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of the tragedy. And now as to the villains, who seemed to be
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immediately implicated in the matter. The Lascar was known to be a man of
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the vilest antecedents, but as by Missus Saint Clair's story, he was known
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to have been at the foot of the stair within a very few seconds of
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her husband's appearance at the window, he could hardly have been more than an
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accessory to the crime. His defense was one of absolute ignorance, and he
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protested that he had no knowledge as to the doings of Hugh Boone, his
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lodger, and that he could not account in any way for the presence of
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the missing gentleman's clothes. So much for the Lascar manager, now for this
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sinister cripple who lives upon the second floor of the Opium Den, and who
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was certainly the last human being whose eyes upon Neville Saint Clair. His name
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is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one which is familiar to every
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man who goes much to the city. He is a professional beggar, though
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in order to avoid the police regulations, he pretends to a small trade in
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wax estas. Some little distance down thread Needle Street, upon the left hand
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side, there is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in
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the wall. Here it is that this creature takes his daily seat, cross
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legged, with his tiny stock of matches on his lap, And as he
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is a piteous spectacle, a small rain of charity descends into the greasy leather
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cap which lies upon the pavement beside him. I have watched the fellow more
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than once before ever I thought of making his professional acquaintance, and I have
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been surprised at the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. His
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appearance, you see, is so remarkable that no one can pass him without
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observing him. A shock of orange hair, a pale face disfigured by a
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horrible scar which, by its contraction has turned up the outer edges of his
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upper lip, a bulldog chin, and a pair of very penetrating dark eyes,
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which present a singular contrast to the color of his hair, all mark
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him out from amid the common crowd of mendicants. And so too does his
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wit, for he is ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff
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which may be thrown at him by the passers by. This is the man
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whom we now learned to have been the lodger at the Opium Den, and
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to have been the last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in
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quest. But a cripple, said I What could he have done single handed
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against a man in the prime of life. He is a cripple in the
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sense that he walks with a limp, but in other respects he appears to
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be a powerful and well nurtured man. Surely your medical experience would tell you,
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Watson, that weakness in one limb is often compensated for by exceptional strength.
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And the others pray continue your narrative. Missus Sinclair had fainted at the
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sight of the blood upon the window, and she was escorted home in a
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cab by the police, as her presence could be of no help to them
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in their investigations. Inspector Barton, who had charge of the case, made
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a very careful examination of the premises, but without finding anything which threw any
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light upon the matter. One mistake had been made in not a resting Boone
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instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes during which he might have communicated
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with his friend thele scar. But this fault was soon remedied, and he
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was seized and searched without anything being found which could incriminate him. Their word
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is true. Some blood stains upon his right shirt sleeve, but he pointed
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to his ring finger, which had been cut near the nail, and explained
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that the bleeding came from there, adding that he had been to the window
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not long before, and that the stains which had been observed there came doubtless
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from the same source. He denied strenuously having ever seen mister Neville Saint Clair,
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and swore that the presence of the clothes in his room was as much
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a mystery to him as to the police. As to missus Saint Clair's assertion
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the she had actually seen her husband at the window, he declared that she
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must have been either mad or dreaming. He was removed, loudly protesting to
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the police station, while the inspector remained upon the premises in the hope that
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the ebbing tide might afford some fresh clue. And it did, though they
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hardly found upon the mud bank what they had feared to find. It was
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nevill Saint Clair's coat, and not Neville Saint Clair, which lay uncovered as
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the tide receded. And what do you think they found in the pockets?
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I cannot imagine. No, I don't think you would guess every pocket stuffed
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with pennies and half pennies four hundred twenty one pennies and two hundred seventy halfpennies.
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It was no wonder that it had not been swept away by the tide.
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But a human body is a different matter. There was a fierce eddy
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between the wharf and the house. It seemed likely enough that the weighted coat
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had remained when the stripped body had been sucked away into the river. But
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I understand that all the other clothes were found in the room. Would the
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body be dressed in a coat alone, No, sir, But the facts
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might be met speciously enough. Suppose that this man's boone had thrust nevill Saint
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Clair through the window. There's no human eye which could have seen the deed.
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What would he do then? It would of course instantly strike him that
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he must get rid of the tell tale garments. He would seize the coat
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then, and be in the act of throwing it out when it would occur
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to him that it would swim and not sink. He has little time,
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for he has heard the scuffle downstairs when the wife tried to force her way
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up, And perhaps he's already heard from his Lascar confederate that the police are
24:38
hurrying up the street. There's not an instant to be lost. He rushes
24:42
to some secret horde where he has accumulated the fruits of his beggary, and
24:47
he stuffs all the coins upon which he can lay his hands into the pockets
24:49
to make sure of the coat's sinking. He throws it out, and would
24:52
have done the same thing with the other garments, had not he heard the
24:56
rush of steps below, and only just had time to close the window when
25:00
the police appeared. It certainly sounds feasible. Well we will take it as
25:06
a working hypothesis for want of a better. Boone, as I have told
25:10
you, was arrested and taken to the station, But it could not be
25:14
shown that there had ever before been anything against him. He had for years
25:17
been known as a professional beggar, but his life appeared to have been a
25:21
very quiet and innocent one. There the matter stands at present, and the
25:25
questions which have to be solved, what Neville Saint Clair was doing in the
25:29
Opium den, what happened to him when there, where is he now?
25:33
And what Hugh Boone had to do with his disappearance are all as far from
25:37
a solution as ever. I confess that I cannot recall any case within my
25:42
experience which looked at the first glance so simple and yet which presented such difficulties.
25:51
While che la Combe had been detailing this singular series of events, we
25:55
had been whirling through the outskirts of the great town until the last straggling houses
25:59
had been left behind, and we rattled along with a country hedge upon either
26:03
side of us. Just as he finished, however, we drove through two
26:06
scattered villages where a few lights still glimmered in the windows. We are on
26:11
the outskirts of Lee, said my companion. We have touched on three English
26:15
counties in our short drive, starting in Middlesex, passing over an angle of
26:21
Surrey, and ending in Kent. See that light among the trees, that
26:26
is the cedars, and beside that lamp sits a woman whose anxious ears have
26:30
already I have little doubt caught the clink of our horses feet. But why
26:36
are you not conducting the case from Baker Street, I asked, because there
26:41
are many inquiries which must be made out here. Missus Saint Clair has most
26:45
kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and you may rest assured that she
26:48
will have nothing but a welcome for my friend and colleague. I hate to
26:52
meet her, Watson, when I have no news of her husband. Here
26:56
we are, woa there WHOA. We had pulled up in front of a
27:02
large villa which stood within its own grounds. A stable boy had run out
27:06
to the horse's head, and springing down, I followed Holmes up the small
27:10
winding gravel drive which led to the house. As we approached, the door
27:15
flew open, and a little blond woman stood in the opening, clad in
27:18
some sort of light musoline de sois, with a touch of fluffy pink chiffon
27:22
at her neck and wrists. She stood with her figure outlined against the flood
27:26
of light, one hand upon the door, one half raised in her eagerness,
27:32
her body slightly bent, her head and face protruded with eager eyes and
27:36
parted lips. A standing question, well, she cried well, and then
27:44
seeing that there were two of us, she gave a cry of hope,
27:47
which sank into a groan as she saw that my companion shook his head and
27:51
shrugged his shoulders. No good news, none, no bad no, Thank
27:57
God for that, but come in. You must be weary, for you
28:02
have had a long day. This is my friend, doctor Watson. He
28:07
has been of most vital use to me in several of my cases, and
28:10
a lucky chance has made it possible for me to bring him out and associate
28:12
him with this investigation. I am delighted to see you, said she,
28:18
pressing my hand warmly. You will, I am sure, forgive anything that
28:22
may be wanting in our arrangements when you consider the blow which has come so
28:26
suddenly upon us. My dear madam said I. I am an old campaigner,
28:32
and if I were not, I can very well see that no apology
28:33
is needed. If I can be of any assistance, either to you or
28:37
to my friend here, I shall be indeed happy. Now, mister Sherlock
28:42
Holmes, said the lady, as we entered a well lit dining room,
28:47
upon the table of which a cold supper had been laid out. I should
28:51
very much like to ask you one or two plain questions, to which I
28:53
beg that you will give a plain answer. Certainly, madam, do not
29:00
trouble about my feelings. I am not hysterical nor given to fainting. I
29:03
simply wish to hear your real, real opinion. Upon what point in your
29:10
heart of hearts do you think that Neville is alive? Churlo Coombe seemed to
29:15
be embarrassed by the question. Frankly now, she repeated, standing upon the
29:22
rug and looking keenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket chair.
29:26
Frankly, then, Madam, I do not you think that he is
29:32
dead? I do murdered? I don't say that. Perhaps, and on
29:40
what day did he meet his death? On Monday? Then perhaps, mister
29:45
Holmes, you will be good enough to explain how it is that I have
29:48
received a letter from him to day. Churlo Combe sprang out of his chair
29:52
as if it had been galvanized. What he roared? Yes to day?
29:59
She stood, holding up a little slip of paper in the air. May
30:03
I see it? Certainly? He snatched it from her in his eagerness,
30:07
and smoothing it out upon the table. He drew over the lamp and examined
30:11
it intently. I had left my chair and was gazing at it over his
30:15
shoulder. The envelope was a very coarse one, and was stamped with the
30:19
Gravesend postmark and with the date of that very day, or rather of the
30:23
day before, for it was considerably after midnight. Coarse writing, murmured Holmes.
30:30
Surely this is not your husband's writing, madam. No, but the
30:33
enclosure is. I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go and
30:40
inquire as to the address. How can you tell that the name you see
30:45
is in perfectly black ink, which has dried itself. The rest is of
30:49
the grayish color, which shows that blotting paper has been used. If it
30:53
had been written straight off and then blotted, none would be of a deep
30:57
black shade. This man has written the name, and there has then been
31:02
a pause before he wrote the address, which can only mean that he was
31:04
not familiar with it. It is, of course a trifle, but there
31:08
is nothing so important as trifles. Let us now see the letter. Ha,
31:14
there's been an enclosure here. Yes, there was a ring, his
31:18
signet ring. And you are sure that this is your husband's hand, one
31:23
of his hands, one his hand when he wrote hurriedly. It is very
31:30
unlike his usual writing, And yet I know it well, dearest, Do
31:34
not be frightened. All will come well. There is a huge error,
31:40
which it may take some little time to rectify. Wait in patience. Neville
31:48
written in pencil upon the fly leaf of a book of tavo size, no
31:52
water mark, hum post it to day in graves End by a man with
31:57
a dirty thumb. Ah, and the flap has been gummed, if I
32:02
am not very much in error, by a person who had been chewing tobacco.
32:07
And you have no doubt that it is your husband's hand, madam none.
32:13
Neville wrote those words, and they were posted to day at graves End.
32:20
Well, missus, Saint Clair. The clouds lighten, though I should
32:23
not venture to say that the danger is over. But he must be alive,
32:28
mister Holmes, unless this is a clever forgery to put us on the
32:32
wrong scent. The ring, after all, proves nothing. It may have
32:37
been taken from him, No, no, it is it is his very
32:40
own writing. Very well. It may, however, have been written on
32:46
Monday and only post it to day. That is possible, if so much
32:53
may have happened between Oh, but you must not discourage me, mister Holmes.
32:59
I know that all is well with him. There is so keen a
33:01
sympathy between us that I should know if evil came upon him on the very
33:06
day that I saw him last, he cut himself in the bedroom, and
33:08
yet I, in the dining room, rushed upstairs instantly with the utmost certainty
33:14
that something had happened. Do you think that I would respond to such a
33:16
trifle and yet be ignorant of his death. I have seen too much not
33:22
to know that the impression of a woman may be more valuable than the conclusion
33:27
of an analytical reasoner. And in this letter you certainly have a very strong
33:31
piece of evidence to corroborate your view. But if your husband is alive and
33:36
able to write letters, why should he remain away from you? I cannot
33:40
imagine. It is unthinkable. And on Monday he made no remarks before leaving
33:47
you. No, and you were surprised to see him in Swandham Lane very
33:55
much so was the window open? Yes, then he might have called to
34:01
you. He might he only, as I understand, gave an inarticulate cry.
34:08
Yes, he called for help. You thought, yes, he waved
34:14
his hands, But it might have been a cry of surprise. Astonishment at
34:19
the unexpected sight of you might cause him to throw up his hands. It
34:22
is possible, And you thought he was pulled back he disappeared so suddenly he
34:30
might have leaped back. You did not see any one else in the room.
34:34
No, but this horrible man confessed to having been there, And though
34:37
a scar was at the foot of the stairs, quite so. Your husband,
34:43
as far as you could see, had his ordinary clothes on, but
34:47
without his collar or tie. I distinctly saw his bare throat. Had he
34:52
ever spoken of Swandam Lane? Never had he ever showed any signs of having
34:59
taken an opium? Never? Thank you missus, Saint Clair. Those are
35:05
the principal points about which I wished to be absolutely clear. We shall now
35:10
have a little supper and then retire, for we may have a very busy
35:15
day tomorrow. A large and comfortable double bedded room had been placed at our
35:21
disposal, and I was quickly between the sheets, for I was weary after
35:24
my night of adventure. Sherlock Holmes was a man, however, who,
35:29
when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go for days and
35:32
even for a week without rest, turning it over, rearranging his facts,
35:37
looking at it from every point of view, until he had either fathomed it
35:42
or convinced himself that his data were insufficient. It was soon evident to me
35:45
that he was now preparing for an all night sitting. He took off his
35:49
coat and waistcoat, put on a large blue dressing gown, and then wandered
35:53
about the room, collecting pillows from his bed and cushions from the sofa and
35:58
arm chairs. With these he constructed a sort of Eastern divan, upon which
36:02
he perched himself cross legged, with an ounce of shag tobacco and a box
36:07
of matches laid out in front of him. In the dim light of the
36:10
lamp, I saw him sitting there, an old briar pipe between his lips,
36:15
his eyes fixed vacantly upon the corner of the ceiling, the blue smoke
36:21
curling up from him, silent, motionless, with a light shining upon his
36:27
strong set aquiline features. So he sat as I dropped off to sleep,
36:32
And so he sat when a sudden ejaculation caused me to wake up, and
36:36
I found the summer sun shining into the apartment. The pipe was still between
36:40
his lips, the smoke still curled upward, and the room was full of
36:45
a dense tobacco haze. But nothing remained of the heap of shag which I
36:49
had seen upon the previous night. Awake Watson, he asked, yes,
36:55
game for a morning drive. Certainly then, no one is stirring yet,
37:01
But I know where the stable boy sleeps, and we shall soon have the
37:05
trap out. He chuckled to himself. As he spoke. His eyes twinkled,
37:09
and he seemed a different man to the somber thinker of the previous night.
37:14
As I dressed, I glanced at my watch. It was no wonder
37:16
that no one was stirring. It was twenty five minutes past four. I'd
37:21
hardly finish when Holmes returned with the news that the boy was putting in the
37:23
horse. I want to test a little theory of mine, said he,
37:29
pulling on his boots. I think, Watson, that you are now standing
37:32
in the presence of one of the most absolute fools in Europe. I deserve
37:37
to be kicked from here to Charing Cross. But I think I have the
37:40
key of the affair now. And where is it? I asked, smiling
37:45
in the bathroom, he answered, Oh yes, I'm not joking, he
37:50
continued, seeing my look of incredulity. I have just been there, and
37:53
I have taken it out, and I have got it in this gladstone bag.
37:58
Come on, my boy, we shall see whether it will not fit
38:00
the lock. We made our way downstairs as quietly as possible, and out
38:07
into the bright morning sunshine. In the road stood our horse and trap,
38:10
with the half clad stable boy waiting at the head. We both sprang in
38:15
and away we dashed down the London Road. A few country carts were stirring,
38:20
bearing in vegetables to the metropolis, but the lines of villas on either
38:24
side were as silent and lifeless as some city in a dream. It has
38:30
been in some points a singular case, said Holmes, flicking the horse on
38:35
into a gallop. I confess that I have been as blind as a mole.
38:38
But it is better to learn wisdom late than never to learn it at
38:42
all. In town, the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepily from
38:46
their windows as we drove through the streets of the Surrey side. Passing down
38:52
the Waterloo Bridge Road, we crossed over the river, and, dashing up
38:54
Wellington Street, wheeled sharply to the right and found ourselves in Bow Street.
39:00
Sherlock Holmes was well known to the force, and the two constables at the
39:04
door saluted him. One of them held the horse's head while the other led
39:07
us in. Who's on duty? Asked Holmes, Inspector Bradstreet. Sir,
39:14
Ah, Brad Street, how are you? A tall stout official had come
39:17
down the stone flagged passage in a peaked cap and frogged jacket. I wish
39:22
to have a quiet word with you, Bradstreet. Certainly, mister Holmes,
39:27
step into my room. Here. It was a small office like rooum,
39:31
with a huge ledger upon the table and a telephone projecting from the wall.
39:36
The inspector sat down at his desk. What can I do for you,
39:39
mister Holmes. I called about that beggarman Boone, the one who was charged
39:45
with being concerned in the disappearance of mister Neville Saint Clair of Lee. Yes,
39:51
he was brought up and remanded for further inquiries. So I heard you
39:55
have him here in the cells. Is he quiet? Oh, he gives
40:00
no trouble. But he's a dirty scoundrel dirty. Yes. It is all
40:07
we can do to make him wash his hands, and his face is as
40:09
black as a tinker's well. And once his case has been settled, he
40:13
will have a regular prison bath. And I think if you saw him.
40:15
You would agree with me that he needed it. I should like to see
40:20
him very much, would you. That's easily done. Come this way you
40:24
can leave your bag. No, I think that I'll take it very good.
40:30
Come this way if you please. He let us down. A passage
40:34
opened, a barred door, passed down a winding stair, and brought us
40:37
to a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each side. The third
40:43
on the right is his, said the inspector. Here it is. He
40:46
quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door and glanced through.
40:52
He's asleep, said he. You can see him very well. We
40:55
both put our eyes to the grating. The prisoner lay with his face towards
41:00
us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and heavily. He was
41:05
a middle sized man, coarsely clad, as became his calling, with a
41:08
colored shirt protruding through the rent in his tattered coat. He was, as
41:13
the inspector had said, extremely dirty, but the grime which covered his face
41:17
could not conceal its repulsive ugliness. A broad wheel from an old scar ran
41:22
right across it from eye to chin, and by its contraction, had turned
41:27
up one side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in
41:30
a perpetual snarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over his
41:35
eyes and forehead. He's a beauty, isn't he, said the inspector.
41:40
He certainly needs a wash, remarked Holmes. I had an idea that he
41:45
might, and I took the liberty of bringing the tools with me. He
41:47
opened the gladstone bag as he spoke, and took out, to my astonishment,
41:52
a very large bath sponge. He eh, you're a funny one,
41:57
chuckled the inspector. Now, if you will have the great goodness to open
42:01
that door very quietly, we will soon make him cut a much more respectable
42:06
figure. Well, I dunno, why not, said the inspector. He
42:10
doesn't look a credit to the Bow Street cells, does he. He slipped
42:15
his key into the lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell.
42:19
The sleeper half turned and then settled down once more into a deep slumber.
42:23
Holmes stooped to the water jug, moistened his sponge, and then rubbed it
42:28
twice vigorously across and down the prisoner's face. Let me introduce you, he
42:34
shouted to mister Neville, Saint Clair of Lee in the County of Kent.
42:39
Never in my life have I seen such a sight. The man's face pealed
42:44
off under the sponge, like the bark from a tree. Gone was the
42:47
coarse brown tint. Gone too was the horrid scar which had seemed it across,
42:53
and the twisted lip which had given the repulsive sneer to the face.
42:57
A twitch brought away the tangled red hair. And there, sitting up in
43:01
his bed was a pale, sad faced, refined looking man, black haired
43:07
and smooth skinned, rubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment.
43:12
Then, suddenly realizing the exposure, he broke into a scream and threw himself
43:15
down with his face to the pillow. Great Heavens, cried the inspector.
43:21
It is indeed the missing man. I know him from the photograph. The
43:24
prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons himself to his destiny.
43:30
Be it so, said he, And pray what am I charged with
43:37
with making away with mister Nevills. Oh? Come, you can't be charged
43:39
with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it, said the
43:44
inspector with a grin. Well, I have been twenty seven years in the
43:47
force, but this really takes the cake. If I am mister Neville Saint
43:52
Clair, then it is obvious that no crime has been committed, and that
43:55
therefore I am illegally detained. No crime, but a very great error has
44:01
been committed, said Holmes. You would have done better to have trusted your
44:06
wife. It was not the wife, it was the children, groaned the
44:09
prisoner. God help me, I would not have them ashamed of their father.
44:15
My God, what an exposure. What can I do? Chelacombe sat
44:19
down beside him on the couch and patted him kindly on the shoulder. If
44:23
you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up, said
44:27
he. Of course, you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand,
44:31
if you convince the police authorities that there is no possible case against you,
44:36
I do not know that there is any reason that the details should find
44:38
their way into the papers. Inspector Bradstreet, would I am sure, make
44:43
notes upon anything which you might tell us and submit it to the proper authorities.
44:47
The case would then never go into court at all. God bless you,
44:52
cried the prisoner Passionately, I would have endured imprisonment, ay even execution,
44:58
rather than I have left my miserable secret as a family blot to my
45:01
children. You are the first to have ever heard my story. My father
45:07
was a schoolmaster in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent education. I traveled
45:12
in my youth, took to the stage, and finally became a reporter on
45:15
an evening paper in London. One day, my editor wished to have a
45:19
series of articles upon begging in the Metropolis, and I volunteered to supply them.
45:23
There was the point from which all my adventures started. It was only
45:28
by trying begging as an amateur that I could get the facts upon which to
45:31
base my articles. When an actor, I had of course learned all the
45:35
secrets of making up, and had been famous in the green room for my
45:38
skill. I took advantage now of my attainments. I painted my face,
45:43
and to make myself as pitiable as possible, I made a good scar and
45:46
fixed one side of my lip in a twist by the aid of a small
45:50
slip of flesh colored plaster. Then, with a red head of hair and
45:53
an appropriate dress, I took my station in the business part of the city,
45:58
ostensibly as a match, but really as a beggar. For seven hours
46:02
I applied my trade, and when I returned home in the evening, I
46:06
found to my surprise that I had received no less than twenty six shillings and
46:09
fourpence. I wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until some
46:15
time later I backed a bill for a friend and had a writ served upon
46:19
me for twenty five pounds. I was at my WIT's end where to get
46:22
the money, but a sudden idea came to me. I begged a fortnight's
46:25
grace from the creditor, asked for a holiday from my employers, and spent
46:30
the time in begging in the city under my disguise. In ten days I
46:34
had the money and had paid the debt. Well you can imagine how hard
46:38
it was to settle down to arduous work at two pounds a week, when
46:42
I knew that I could earn as much in a day by smearing my face
46:45
with a little paint, laying my cap on the ground, and sitting still.
46:49
It was a long fight between my pride and the money, but the
46:52
dollars won at last, and I threw up reporting and sat day after day
46:55
in the corner which I had first chosen, inspiring pity by my ghastly face
47:00
and filling my pockets with coppers. Only one man knew my secret. He
47:06
was the keeper of a low den in which I used to lodge in Swandham
47:08
Lane, where I could every morning emerge as a squalid beggar, and in
47:12
the evenings transform myself into a well dressed man about town. This fellow,
47:16
a Lescar, was well paid by me for his rooms, so that I
47:20
knew that my secret was safe in his possession. Well, very soon I
47:24
found that I was saving considerable sums of money. I do not mean that
47:28
any beggar in the streets of London could earn seven hundred pounds a year,
47:31
which is less than my average takings. But I had exceptional advantages in my
47:37
power of making up, and also in a facility of repartee, which improved
47:40
by practice and made me quite a recognized character in the city. All day
47:45
a stream of pennies, varied by silver, poured in upon me, and
47:50
it was a very bad day in which I failed to take two pounds.
47:53
As I grew richer, I grew more ambitious, took a house in the
47:57
country, and eventually married without any When having a suspicion as to my real
48:00
occupation, my dear wife knew that I had business in the city. She
48:06
little knew what. Last Monday, I had finished for the day and was
48:09
dressing in my room above the opium den when I looked out of my window
48:14
and saw, to my horror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in
48:16
the street with her eyes fixed full upon me. I gave a cry of
48:21
surprise, threw up my arms to cover my face, and rushing to my
48:24
confidant, though a scar entreated him to prevent any one from coming up to
48:29
me. I heard her voice downstairs, but I knew that she could not
48:32
ascend Swiftly. I threw off my clothes, pulled on those of a beggar,
48:37
and put on my pigments and wig. Even a wife's eyes could not
48:40
pierce so complete a disguise. But then it occurred to me that there might
48:45
be a search in the room, and that the clothes might betray me.
48:47
I threw open the window, reopening by my violence a small cut which I
48:52
had inflicted upon myself in the bedroom that morning. Then I seized my coat,
48:55
which was waited by the coppers, which I had just transferred to it
48:59
from the bag in which I carried my takings. I hurled it out of
49:04
the window and it disappeared into the Thames. The other clothes would have followed,
49:07
but at that moment there was a rush of constables up the stair,
49:10
and a few minutes after I found rather, I confessed to my relief that
49:15
instead of being identified as mister Neville Saint Clair, I was arrested as his
49:19
murderer. I do not know that there is anything else for me to explain.
49:22
I was determined to preserve my disguise as long as possible, and hence
49:27
my preference for a dirty face. Knowing that my wife would be terribly anxious,
49:30
I slipped off my ring and confided it to the lescar at a moment
49:35
when no constable was watching me, together with a hurried scrawl, telling her
49:38
that she had no cause to fear. That note only reached her yesterday,
49:45
said Holmes. Good God, what a week she must have spent. The
49:50
police have watched this Lascar, said Inspector Bradstreet, and I can quite understand
49:53
that he might find it difficult to post a letter unobserved. Probably he handed
49:59
to some sailor custom of his, who forgot all about it for some days.
50:04
That was it, said Holmess, nodding approvingly. I have no doubt
50:07
of it. But have you never been prosecuted for begging? Many times?
50:12
But what was a fine to me? It must stop here, however,
50:15
said Bradstreet. If the police are to hush this thing up, there must
50:19
be no more of Hugh Boon. I have sworn it by the most solemn
50:23
oaths which a man can take. In that case, I think that it
50:28
is probable that no further steps may be taken. But if you are found
50:31
again, then all must come out. I am sure, mister Holmes,
50:36
that we are very much indebted to you for having cleared the matter up.
50:38
I wish I knew how you reach your results. I reached this one,
50:44
said my friend, by sitting upon five pillows and consuming an ounce of shag.
50:50
I think, Watson, that if we drive to Baker Street, we
50:52
shall just be in time for breakfast.