“But why Turkish?” asked Mr. Sherlock Holmes, gazing fixedly1 at my boots. I was reclining in a cane-backed chair at the moment, and my protruded2 feet had attracted his ever-active attention.
“English,” I answered in some surprise. “I got them at Latimer’s, in Oxford3 Street.”
Holmes smiled with an expression of weary patience.
“The bath!” he said; “the bath! Why the relaxing and expensive Turkish rather than the invigorating home-made article?”
“Because for the last few days I have been feeling rheumatic and old. A Turkish bath is what we call an alterative4 in medicine — a fresh starting-point, a cleanser of the system.
“By the way, Holmes,” I added, “I have no doubt the connection between my boots and a Turkish bath is a perfectly5 self-evident one to a logical mind, and yet I should be obliged to you if you would indicate it.”
“The train of reasoning is not very obscure, Watson,” said Holmes with a mischievous7 twinkle. “It belongs to the same elementary class of deduction8 which I should illustrate9 if I were to ask you who shared your cab in your drive this morning.”
“I don’t admit that a fresh illustration is an explanation,” said I with some asperity10.
“Bravo, Watson! A very dignified11 and logical remonstrance12. Let me see, what were the points? Take the last one first — the cab. You observe that you have some splashes on the left sleeve and shoulder of your coat. Had you sat in the centre of a hansom you would probably have had no splashes, and if you had they would certainly have been symmetrical. Therefore it is clear that you sat at the side. Therefore it is equally clear that you had a companion.”
“That is very evident.”
“Absurdly commonplace, is it not?”
“But the boots and the bath?”
“Equally childish. You are in the habit of doing up your boots in a certain way. I see them on this occasion fastened with an elaborate double bow, which is not your usual method of tying them. You have, therefore, had them off. Who has tied them? A bootmaker — or the boy at the bath. It is unlikely that it is the bootmaker, since your boots are nearly new. Well, what remains13? The bath. Absurd, is it not? But, for all that, the Turkish bath has served a purpose.”
“What is that?”
“You say that you have had it because you need a change. Let me suggest that you take one. How would Lausanne do, my dear Watson — first-class tickets and all expenses paid on a princely scale?”
“Splendid! But why?”
Holmes leaned back in his armchair and took his notebook from his pocket.
“One of the most dangerous classes in the world,” said he, “is the drifting and friendless woman. She is the most harmless and often the most useful of mortals, but she is the inevitable14 inciter15 of crime in others. She is helpless. She is migratory16. She has sufficient means to take her from country to country and from hotel to hotel. She is lost, as often as not, in a maze17 of obscure pensions and boarding-houses. She is a stray chicken in a world of foxes. When she is gobbled up she is hardly missed. I much fear that some evil has come to the Lady Frances Carfax.”
I was relieved at this sudden descent from the general to the particular. Holmes consulted his notes.
“Lady Frances,” he continued, “is the sole survivor18 of the direct family of the late Earl of Rufton. The estates went, as you may remember, in the male line. She was left with limited means, but with some very remarkable19 old Spanish jewellery of silver and curiously20 cut diamonds to which she was fondly attached — too attached, for she refused to leave them with her banker and always carried them about with her. A rather pathetic figure, the Lady Frances, a beautiful woman, still in fresh middle age, and yet, by a strange chance, the last derelict of what only twenty years ago was a goodly fleet.”
“What has happened to her, then?”
“Ah, what has happened to the Lady Frances? Is she alive or dead? There is our problem. She is a lady of precise habits, and for four years it has been her invariable custom to write every second week to Miss Dobney, her old governess, who has long retired21 and lives in Camberwell. It is this Miss Dobney who has consulted me. Nearly five weeks have passed without a word. The last letter was from the Hotel National at Lausanne. Lady Frances seems to have left there and given no address. The family are anxious, and as they are exceedingly wealthy no sum will be spared if we can clear the matter up.”
“Is Miss Dobney the only source of information? Surely she had other correspondents?”
“There is one correspondent who is a sure draw, Watson. That is the bank. Single ladies must live, and their passbooks22 are compressed diaries. She banks at Silvester’s. I have glanced over her account. The last check but one paid her bill at Lausanne but it was a large one and probably left her with cash in hand. Only one check has been drawn23 since.”
“To whom, and where?”
“To Miss Marie Devine. There is nothing to show where the check was drawn. It was cashed at the Credit Lyonnais at Montpellier less than three weeks ago. The sum was fifty pounds.”
“And who is Miss Marie Devine?”
“That also I have been able to discover. Miss Marie Devine was the maid of Lady Frances Carfax. Why she should have paid her this check we have not yet determined24. I have no doubt, however, that your researches will soon clear the matter up.”
“My researches!”
“Hence the health-giving expedition to Lausanne. You know that I cannot possibly leave London while old Abrahams is in such mortal terror of his life. Besides, on general principles it is best that I should not leave the country. Scotland Yard feels lonely without me, and it causes an unhealthy excitement among the criminal classes. Go, then, my dear Watson, and if my humble25 counsel can ever be valued at so extravagant26 a rate as two pence a word, it waits your disposal night and day at the end of the Continental27 wire.”
Two days later found me at the Hotel National at Lausanne, where I received every courtesy at the hands of M. Moser, the well-known manager. Lady Frances, as he informed me, had stayed there for several weeks. She had been much liked by all who met her. Her age was not more than forty. She was still handsome and bore every sign of having in her youth been a very lovely woman. M. Moser knew nothing of any valuable jewellery, but it had been remarked by the servants that the heavy trunk in the lady’s bedroom was always scrupulously28 locked. Marie Devine, the maid, was as popular as her mistress. She was actually engaged to one of the head waiters in the hotel, and there was no difficulty in getting her address. It was 11 Rue30 de Trajan, Montpellier. All this I jotted31 down and felt that Holmes himself could not have been more adroit32 in collecting his facts.
Only one corner still remained in the shadow. No light which I possessed33 could clear up the cause for the lady’s sudden departure. She was very happy at Lausanne. There was every reason to believe that she intended to remain for the season in her luxurious34 rooms overlooking the lake. And yet she had left at a single day’s notice, which involved her in the useless payment of a week’s rent. Only Jules Vibart, the lover of the maid, had any suggestion to offer. He connected the sudden departure with the visit to the hotel a day or two before of a tall, dark, bearded man. “Un sauvage — un veritable sauvage!” cried Jules Vibart. The man had rooms somewhere in the town. He had been seen talking earnestly to Madame on the promenade35 by the lake. Then he had called. She had refused to see him. He was English, but of his name there was no record. Madame had left the place immediately afterwards. Jules Vibart, and, what was of more importance, Jules Vibart’s sweetheart, thought that this call and this departure were cause and effect. Only one thing Jules would not discuss. That was the reason why Marie had left her mistress. Of that he could or would say nothing. If I wished to know, I must go to Montpellier and ask her.
So ended the first chapter of my inquiry36. The second was devoted37 to the place which Lady Frances Carfax had sought when she left Lausanne. Concerning this there had been some secrecy38, which confirmed the idea that she had gone with the intention of throwing someone off her track. Otherwise why should not her luggage have been openly labelled for Baden? Both she and it reached the Rhenish spa by some circuitous39 route. This much I gathered from the manager of Cook’s local office. So to Baden I went, after dispatching to Holmes an account of all my proceedings41 and receiving in reply a telegram of half-humorous commendation.
At Baden the track was not difficult to follow. Lady Frances had stayed at the Englischer Hof for a fortnight. While there she had made the acquaintance of a Dr. Shlessinger and his wife, a missionary42 from South America. Like most lonely ladies, Lady Frances found her comfort and occupation in religion. Dr. Shlessinger’s remarkable personality, his whole-hearted devotion, and the fact that he was recovering from a disease contracted in the exercise of his apostolic duties affected43 her deeply. She had helped Mrs. Shlessinger in the nursing of the convalescent saint. He spent his day, as the manager described it to me, upon a lounge-chair on the veranda44, with an attendant lady upon either side of him. He was preparing a map of the Holy Land, with special reference to the kingdom of the Midianites, upon which he was writing a monograph45. Finally, having improved much in health, he and his wife had returned to London, and Lady Frances had started thither46 in their company. This was just three weeks before, and the manager had heard nothing since. As to the maid, Marie, she had gone off some days beforehand in floods of tears, after informing the other maids that she was leaving service forever. Dr. Shlessinger had paid the bill of the whole party before his departure.
“By the way,” said the landlord in conclusion, “you are not the only friend of Lady Frances Carfax who is inquiring after her just now. Only a week or so ago we had a man here upon the same errand.”
“Did he give a name?” I asked.
“None; but he was an Englishman, though of an unusual type.”
“A savage48?” said I, linking my facts after the fashion of my illustrious friend.
“Exactly. That describes him very well. He is a bulky, bearded, sunburned fellow, who looks as if he would be more at home in a farmers’ inn than in a fashionable hotel. A hard, fierce man, I should think, and one whom I should be sorry to offend.”
Already the mystery began to define itself, as figures grow clearer with the lifting of a fog. Here was this good and pious49 lady pursued from place to place by a sinister50 and unrelenting figure. She feared him, or she would not have fled from Lausanne. He had still followed. Sooner or later he would overtake her. Had he already overtaken her? Was that the secret of her continued silence? Could the good people who were her companions not screen her from his violence or his blackmail51? What horrible purpose, what deep design, lay behind this long pursuit? There was the problem which I had to solve.
To Holmes I wrote showing how rapidly and surely I had got down to the roots of the matter. In reply I had a telegram asking for a description of Dr. Shlessinger’s left ear. Holmes’s ideas of humour are strange and occasionally offensive, so I took no notice of his ill-timed jest — indeed, I had already reached Montpellier in my pursuit of the maid, Marie, before his message came.
I had no difficulty in finding the ex-servant and in learning all that she could tell me. She was a devoted creature, who had only left her mistress because she was sure that she was in good hands, and because her own approaching marriage made a separation inevitable in any case. Her mistress had, as she confessed with distress52, shown some irritability53 of temper towards her during their stay in Baden, and had even questioned her once as if she had suspicions of her honesty, and this had made the parting easier than it would otherwise have been. Lady Frances had given her fifty pounds as a wedding-present. Like me, Marie viewed with deep distrust the stranger who had driven her mistress from Lausanne. With her own eyes she had seen him seize the lady’s wrist with great violence on the public promenade by the lake. He was a fierce and terrible man. She believed that it was out of dread54 of him that Lady Frances had accepted the escort of the Shlessingers to London. She had never spoken to Marie about it, but many little signs had convinced the maid that her mistress lived in a state of continual nervous apprehension56. So far she had got in her narrative57, when suddenly she sprang from her chair and her face was convulsed with surprise and fear. “See!” she cried. “The miscreant58 follows still! There is the very man of whom I speak.”
Through the open sitting-room59 window I saw a huge, swarthy man with a bristling60 black beard walking slowly down the centre of the street and staring eagerly at the numbers of the houses. It was clear that, like myself, he was on the track of the maid. Acting61 upon the impulse of the moment, I rushed out and accosted62 him.
“You are an Englishman,” I said.
“What if I am?” he asked with a most villainous scowl63.
“May I ask what your name is?”
“No, you may not,” said he with decision.
The situation was awkward, but the most direct way is often the best.
“Where is the Lady Frances Carfax?” I asked.
He stared at me in amazement64.
“What have you done with her? Why have you pursued her? I insist upon an answer!” said I.
The fellow gave a bellow65 of anger and sprang upon me like a tiger. I have held my own in many a struggle, but the man had a grip of iron and the fury of a fiend. His hand was on my throat and my senses were nearly gone before an unshaven French ouvrier in a blue blouse darted66 out from a cabaret opposite, with a cudgel in his hand, and struck my assailant a sharp crack over the forearm, which made him leave go his hold. He stood for an instant fuming67 with rage and uncertain whether he should not renew his attack. Then, with a snarl68 of anger, he left me and entered the cottage from which I had just come. I turned to thank my preserver, who stood beside me in the roadway.
“Well, Watson,” said he, “a very pretty hash you have made of it! I rather think you had better come back with me to London by the night express.”
An hour afterwards, Sherlock Holmes, in his usual garb69 and style, was seated in my private room at the hotel. His explanation of his sudden and opportune70 appearance was simplicity71 itself, for, finding that he could get away from London, he determined to head me off at the next obvious point of my travels. In the disguise of a workingman he had sat in the cabaret waiting for my appearance.
“And a singularly consistent investigation72 you have made, my dear Watson,” said he. “I cannot at the moment recall any possible blunder which you have omitted. The total effect of your proceeding40 has been to give the alarm everywhere and yet to discover nothing.”
“Perhaps you would have done no better,” I answered bitterly.
“There is no ‘perhaps’ about it. I have done better. Here is the Hon. Philip Green, who is a fellow-lodger with you in this hotel, and we may find him the starting-point for a more successful investigation.”
A card had come up on a salver, and it was followed by the same bearded ruffian who had attacked me in the street. He started when he saw me.
“What is this, Mr. Holmes?” he asked. “I had your note and I have come. But what has this man to do with the matter?”
“This is my old friend and associate, Dr. Watson, who is helping73 us in this affair.”
The stranger held out a huge, sunburned hand, with a few words of apology.
“I hope I didn’t harm you. When you accused me of hurting her I lost my grip of myself. Indeed, I’m not responsible in these days. My nerves are like live wires. But this situation is beyond me. What I want to know, in the first place, Mr. Holmes, is, how in the world you came to hear of my existence at all.”
“I am in touch with Miss Dobney, Lady Frances’s governess.”
“Old Susan Dobney with the mob cap! I remember her well.”
“And she remembers you. It was in the days before — before you found it better to go to South Africa.”
“Ah, I see you know my whole story. I need hide nothing from you. I swear to you, Mr. Holmes, that there never was in this world a man who loved a woman with a more wholehearted love than I had for Frances. I was a wild youngster, I know — not worse than others of my class. But her mind was pure as snow. She could not bear a shadow of coarseness. So, when she came to hear of things that I had done, she would have no more to say to me. And yet she loved me — that is the wonder of it! — loved me well enough to remain single all her sainted days just for my sake alone. When the years had passed and I had made my money at Barberton I thought perhaps I could seek her out and soften74 her. I had heard that she was still unmarried. I found her at Lausanne and tried all I knew. She weakened, I think, but her will was strong, and when next I called she had left the town. I traced her to Baden, and then after a time heard that her maid was here. I’m a rough fellow, fresh from a rough life, and when Dr. Watson spoke55 to me as he did I lost hold of myself for a moment. But for God’s sake tell me what has become of the Lady Frances.”
“That is for us to find out,” said Sherlock Holmes with peculiar75 gravity. “What is your London address, Mr. Green?”
“The Langham Hotel will find me.”
“Then may I recommend that you return there and be on hand in case I should want you? I have no desire to encourage false hopes, but you may rest assured that all that can be done will be done for the safety of Lady Frances. I can say no more for the instant. I will leave you this card so that you may be able to keep in touch with us. Now, Watson, if you will pack your bag I will cable to Mrs. Hudson to make one of her best efforts for two hungry travellers at 7:30 to-morrow.”
A telegram was awaiting us when we reached our Baker76 Street rooms, which Holmes read with an exclamation77 of interest and threw across to me. “Jagged or torn,” was the message, and the place of origin, Baden.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It is everything,” Holmes answered. “You may remember my seemingly irrelevant78 question as to this clerical gentleman’s left ear. You did not answer it.”
“I had left Baden and could not inquire.”
“Exactly. For this reason I sent a duplicate to the manager of the Englischer Hof, whose answer lies here.”
“What does it show?”
“It shows, my dear Watson, that we are dealing79 with an exceptionally astute80 and dangerous man. The Rev47. Dr. Shlessinger, missionary from South America, is none other than Holy Peters, one of the most unscrupulous rascals81 that Australia has ever evolved — and for a young country it has turned out some very finished types. His particular specialty82 is the beguiling83 of lonely ladies by playing upon their religious feelings, and his so-called wife, an Englishwoman named Fraser, is a worthy84 helpmate. The nature of his tactics suggested his identity to me, and this physical peculiarity85 — he was badly bitten in a saloon-fight at Adelaide in ’89 — confirmed my suspicion. This poor lady is in the hands of a most infernal couple, who will stick at nothing, Watson. That she is already dead is a very likely supposition. If not, she is undoubtedly86 in some sort of confinement87 and unable to write to Miss Dobney or her other friends. It is always possible that she never reached London, or that she has passed through it, but the former is improbable, as, with their system of registration88, it is not easy for foreigners to play tricks with the Continental police; and the latter is also unlikely, as these rogues89 could not hope to find any other place where it would be as easy to keep a person under restraint. All my instincts tell me that she is in London, but as we have at present no possible means of telling where, we can only take the obvious steps, eat our dinner, and possess our souls in patience. Later in the evening I will stroll down and have a word with friend Lestrade at Scotland Yard.”
But neither the official police nor Holmes’s own small but very efficient organization sufficed to clear away the mystery. Amid the crowded millions of London the three persons we sought were as completely obliterated90 as if they had never lived. Advertisements were tried, and failed. Clues were followed, and led to nothing. Every criminal resort which Shlessinger might frequent was drawn in vain. His old associates were watched but they kept clear of him. And then suddenly, after a week of helpless suspense91, there came a flash of light. A silver-and-brilliant pendant of old Spanish design had been pawned93 at Bovington’s, in Westminster Road. The pawner was a large clean-shaven man of clerical appearance. His name and address were demonstrably false. The ear had escaped notice, but the description was surely that of Shlessinger.
Three times had our bearded friend from the Langham called for news — the third time within an hour of this fresh development. His clothes were getting looser on his great body. He seemed to be wilting94 away in his anxiety. “If you will only give me something to do!” was his constant wail95. At last Holmes could oblige him.
“He has begun to pawn92 the jewels. We should get him now.”
“But does this mean that any harm has befallen the Lady Frances?”
Holmes shook his head very gravely.
“Supposing that they have held her prisoner up to now, it is clear that they cannot let her loose without their own destruction. We must prepare for the worst.”
“What can I do?”
“These people do not know you by sight?”
“No.”
“It is possible that he will go to some other pawnbroker96 in the future. In that case, we must begin again. On the other hand, he has had a fair price and no questions asked, so if he is in need of ready-money he will probably come back to Bovington’s. I will give you a note to them, and they will let you wait in the shop. If the fellow comes you will follow him home. But no indiscretion and, above all, no violence. I put you on your honour that you will take no step without my knowledge and consent.”
For two days the Hon. Philip Green (he was, I may mention the son of the famous admiral of that name who commanded the Sea of Azof fleet in the Crimean War) brought us no news. On the evening of the third he rushed into our sitting-room, pale, trembling, with every muscle of his powerful frame quivering with excitement.
“We have him! We have him!” he cried.
He was incoherent in his agitation97. Holmes soothed98 him with a few words and thrust him into an armchair.
“Come, now, give us the order of events,” said he.
“She came only an hour ago. It was the wife, this time, but the pendant she brought was the fellow of the other. She is a tall, pale woman, with ferret eyes.”
“That is the lady,” said Holmes.
“She left the office and I followed her. She walked up the Kennington Road, and I kept behind her. Presently she went into a shop. Mr. Holmes, it was an undertaker’s.”
My companion started. “Well?” he asked in that vibrant99 voice which told of the fiery100 soul behind the cold gray face.
“She was talking to the woman behind the counter. I entered as well. ‘It is late,’ I heard her say, or words to that effect. The woman was excusing herself. ‘It should be there before now,’ she answered. ‘It took longer, being out of the ordinary.’ They both stopped and looked at me, so I asked some question and then left the shop.”
“You did excellently well. What happened next?”
“The woman came out, but I had hid myself in a doorway101. Her suspicions had been aroused, I think, for she looked round her. Then she called a cab and got in. I was lucky enough to get another and so to follow her. She got down at last at No. 36 Poultney Square, Brixton. I drove past, left my cab at the corner of the square, and watched the house.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“The windows were all in darkness save one on the lower floor. The blind was down, and I could not see in. I was standing102 there, wondering what I should do next, when a covered van drove up with two men in it. They descended103, took something out of the van, and carried it up the steps to the hall door. Mr. Holmes, it was a coffin104.”
“Ah!”
“For an instant I was on the point of rushing in. The door had been opened to admit the men and their burden. It was the woman who had opened it. But as I stood there she caught a glimpse of me, and I think that she recognized me. I saw her start, and she hastily closed the door. I remembered my promise to you, and here I am.”
“You have done excellent work,” said Holmes, scribbling105 a few words upon a half-sheet of paper. “We can do nothing legal without a warrant, and you can serve the cause best by taking this note down to the authorities and getting one. There may be some difficulty, but I should think that the sale of the jewellery should be sufficient. Lestrade will see to all details.”
“But they may murder her in the meanwhile. What could the coffin mean, and for whom could it be but for her?”
“We will do all that can be done, Mr. Green. Not a moment will be lost. Leave it in our hands. Now, Watson,” he added as our client hurried away, “he will set the regular forces on the move. We are, as usual, the irregulars, and we must take our own line of action. The situation strikes me as so desperate that the most extreme measures are justified106. Not a moment is to be lost in getting to Poultney Square.
“Let us try to reconstruct the situation,” said he as we drove swiftly past the Houses of Parliament and over Westminster Bridge. “These villains107 have coaxed108 this unhappy lady to London, after first alienating109 her from her faithful maid. If she has written any letters they have been intercepted110. Through some confederate they have engaged a furnished house. Once inside it, they have made her a prisoner, and they have become possessed of the valuable jewellery which has been their object from the first. Already they have begun to sell part of it, which seems safe enough to them, since they have no reason to think that anyone is interested in the lady’s fate. When she is released she will, of course, denounce them. Therefore, she must not be released. But they cannot keep her under lock and key forever. So murder is their only solution.”
“That seems very clear.”
“Now we will take another line of reasoning. When you follow two separate chains of thought, Watson, you will find some point of intersection111 which should approximate to the truth. We will start now, not from the lady but from the coffin and argue backward. That incident proves, I fear, beyond all doubt that the lady is dead. It points also to an orthodox burial with proper accompaniment of medical certificate and official sanction. Had the lady been obviously murdered, they would have buried her in a hole in the back garden. But here all is open and regular. What does that mean? Surely that they have done her to death in some way which has deceived the doctor and simulated a natural end — poisoning, perhaps. And yet how strange that they should ever let a doctor approach her unless he were a confederate, which is hardly a credible112 proposition.”
“Could they have forged a medical certificate?”
“Dangerous, Watson, very dangerous. No, I hardly see them doing that. Pull up, cabby! This is evidently the undertaker’s, for we have just passed the pawnbroker’s. Would you go in, Watson? Your appearance inspires confidence. Ask what hour the Poultney Square funeral takes place to-morrow.”
The woman in the shop answered me without hesitation113 that it was to be at eight o’clock in the morning. “You see, Watson, no mystery; everything aboveboard! In some way the legal forms have undoubtedly been complied with, and they think that they have little to fear. Well, there’s nothing for it now but a direct frontal attack. Are you armed?”
“My stick!”
“Well, well, we shall be strong enough. ‘Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just.’ We simply can’t afford to wait for the police or to keep within the four corners of the law. You can drive off, cabby. Now, Watson, we’ll just take our luck together, as we have occasionally done in the past.”
He had rung loudly at the door of a great dark house in the centre of Poultney Square. It was opened immediately, and the figure of a tall woman was outlined against the dim-lit hall.
“Well, what do you want?” she asked sharply, peering at us through the darkness.
“I want to speak to Dr. Shlessinger,” said Holmes.
“There is no such person here,” she answered, and tried to close the door, but Holmes had jammed it with his foot.
“Well, I want to see the man who lives here, whatever he may call himself,” said Holmes firmly.
She hesitated. Then she threw open the door. “Well, come in!” said she. “My husband is not afraid to face any man in the world.” She closed the door behind us and showed us into a sitting-room on the right side of the hall, turning up the gas as she left us. “Mr. Peters will be with you in an instant,” she said.
Her words were literally114 true, for we had hardly time to look around the dusty and moth-eaten apartment in which we found ourselves before the door opened and a big, clean-shaven bald-headed man stepped lightly into the room. He had a large red face, with pendulous115 cheeks, and a general air of superficial benevolence116 which was marred117 by a cruel, vicious mouth.
“There is surely some mistake here, gentlemen,” he said in an unctuous118, make-everything-easy voice. “I fancy that you have been misdirected. Possibly if you tried farther down the street —”
“That will do; we have no time to waste,” said my companion firmly. “You are Henry Peters, of Adelaide, late the Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, of Baden and South America. I am as sure of that as that my own name is Sherlock Holmes.”
Peters, as I will now call him, started and stared hard at his formidable pursuer. “I guess your name does not frighten me, Mr. Holmes,” said he coolly. “When a man’s conscience is easy you can’t rattle119 him. What is your business in my house?”
“I want to know what you have done with the Lady Frances Carfax, whom you brought away with you from Baden.”
“I’d be very glad if you could tell me where that lady may be,” Peters answered coolly. “I’ve a bill against her for nearly a hundred pounds, and nothing to show for it but a couple of trumpery120 pendants that the dealer121 would hardly look at. She attached herself to Mrs. Peters and me at Baden — it is a fact that I was using another name at the time — and she stuck on to us until we came to London. I paid her bill and her ticket. Once in London, she gave us the slip, and, as I say, left these out-of-date jewels to pay her bills. You find her, Mr. Holmes, and I’m your debtor122.”
“I mean to find her,” said Sherlock Holmes. “I’m going through this house till I do find her.”
“Where is your warrant?”
Holmes half drew a revolver from his pocket. “This will have to serve till a better one comes.”
“Why, you are a common burglar.”
“So you might describe me,” said Holmes cheerfully. “My companion is also a dangerous ruffian. And together we are going through your house.”
Our opponent opened the door.
“Fetch a policeman, Annie!” said he. There was a whisk of feminine skirts down the passage, and the hall door was opened and shut.
“Our time is limited, Watson,” said Holmes. “If you try to stop us, Peters, you will most certainly get hurt. Where is that coffin which was brought into your house?”
“What do you want with the coffin? It is in use. There is a body in it.”
“I must see that body.”
“Never with my consent.”
“Then without it.” With a quick movement Holmes pushed the fellow to one side and passed into the hall. A door half opened stood immediately before us. We entered. It was the dining-room. On the table, under a half-lit chandelier, the coffin was lying. Holmes turned up the gas and raised the lid. Deep down in the recesses123 of the coffin lay an emaciated124 figure. The glare from the lights above beat down upon an aged29 and withered125 face. By no possible process of cruelty, starvation, or disease could this worn-out wreck126 be the still beautiful Lady Frances. Holmes’s face showed his amazement, and also his relief.
“Thank God!” he muttered. “It’s someone else.”
“Ah, you’ve blundered badly for once, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said Peters, who had followed us into the room.
“Who is this dead woman?”
“Well, if you really must know, she is an old nurse of my wife’s, Rose Spender by name, whom we found in the Brixton Workhouse Infirmary. We brought her round here, called in Dr. Horsom, of 13 Firbank Villas127 — mind you take the address, Mr. Holmes — and had her carefully tended, as Christian128 folk should. On the third day she died — certificate says senile decay — but that’s only the doctor’s opinion, and of course you know better. We ordered her funeral to be carried out by Stimson and Co., of the Kennington Road, who will bury her at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Can you pick any hole in that, Mr. Holmes? You’ve made a silly blunder, and you may as well own up to it. I’d give something for a photograph of your gaping129, staring face when you pulled aside that lid expecting to see the Lady Frances Carfax and only found a poor old woman of ninety.”
Holmes’s expression was as impassive as ever under the jeers130 of his antagonist131, but his clenched132 hands betrayed his acute annoyance133.
“I am going through your house,” said he.
“Are you, though!” cried Peters as a woman’s voice and heavy steps sounded in the passage. “We’ll soon see about that. This way, officers, if you please. These men have forced their way into my house, and I cannot get rid of them. Help me to put them out.”
A sergeant134 and a constable135 stood in the doorway. Holmes drew his card from his case.
“This is my name and address. This is my friend, Dr. Watson.”
“Bless you, sir, we know you very well,” said the sergeant, “but you can’t stay here without a warrant.”
“Of course not. I quite understand that.”
“Arrest him!” cried Peters.
“We know where to lay our hands on this gentleman if he is wanted,” said the sergeant majestically136, “but you’ll have to go, Mr. Holmes.”
“Yes, Watson, we shall have to go.”
A minute later we were in the street once more. Holmes was as cool as ever, but I was hot with anger and humiliation137. The sergeant had followed us.
“Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but that’s the law.”
“Exactly, Sergeant, you could not do otherwise.”
“I expect there was good reason for your presence there. If there is anything I can do —”
“It’s a missing lady, Sergeant, and we think she is in that house. I expect a warrant presently.”
“Then I’ll keep my eye on the parties, Mr. Holmes. If anything comes along, I will surely let you know.”
It was only nine o’clock, and we were off full cry upon the trail at once. First we drove to Brixton Workhouse Infirmary, where we found that it was indeed the truth that a charitable couple had called-some days before, that they had claimed an imbecile old woman as a former servant, and that they had obtained permission to take her away with them. No surprise was expressed at the news that she had since died.
The doctor was our next goal. He had been called in, had found the woman dying of pure senility, had actually seen her pass away, and had signed the certificate in due form. “I assure you that everything was perfectly normal and there was no room for foul138 play in the matter,” said he. Nothing in the house had struck him as suspicious save that for people of their class it was remarkable that they should have no servant. So far and no farther went the doctor.
Finally we found our way to Scotland Yard. There had been difficulties of procedure in regard to the warrant. Some delay was inevitable. The magistrate’s signature might not be obtained until next morning. If Holmes would call about nine he could go down with Lestrade and see it acted upon. So ended the day, save that near midnight our friend, the sergeant, called to say that he had seen flickering139 lights here and there in the windows of the great dark house, but that no one had left it and none had entered. We could but pray for patience and wait for the morrow.
Sherlock Holmes was too irritable140 for conversation and too restless for sleep. I left him smoking hard, with his heavy, dark brows knotted together, and his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair, as he turned over in his mind every possible solution of the mystery. Several times in the course of the night I heard him prowling about the house. Finally, just after I had been called in the morning, he rushed into my room. He was in his dressing-gown, but his pale, hollow-eyed face told me that his night had been a sleepless141 one.
“What time was the funeral? Eight, was it not?” he asked eagerly. “Well, it is 7:20 now. Good heavens, Watson, what has become of any brains that God has given me? Quick, man, quick! It’s life or death — a hundred chances on death to one on life. I’ll never forgive myself, never, if we are too late!”
Five minutes had not passed before we were flying in a hansom down Baker Street. But even so it was twenty-five to eight as we passed Big Ben, and eight struck as we tore down the Brixton Road. But others were late as well as we. Ten minutes after the hour the hearse was still standing at the door of the house, and even as our foaming142 horse came to a halt the coffin, supported by three men, appeared on the threshold. Holmes darted forward and barred their way.
“Take it back!” he cried, laying his hand on the breast of the foremost. “Take it back this instant!”
“What the devil do you mean? Once again I ask you, where is your warrant?” shouted the furious Peters, his big red face glaring over the farther end of the coffin.
“The warrant is on its way. This coffin shall remain in the house until it comes.”
The authority in Holmes’s voice had its effect upon the bearers. Peters had suddenly vanished into the house, and they obeyed these new orders. “Quick, Watson, quick! Here is a screw-driver!” he shouted as the coffin was replaced upon the table. “Here’s one for you, my man! A sovereign if the lid comes off in a minute! Ask no questions — work away! That’s good! Another! And another! Now pull all together! It’s giving! It’s giving! Ah, that does it at last.”
With a united effort we tore off the coffin-lid. As we did so there came from the inside a stupefying and overpowering smell of chloroform. A body lay within, its head all wreathed in cotton-wool, which had been soaked in the narcotic143. Holmes plucked it off and disclosed the statuesque face of a handsome and spiritual woman of middle age. In an instant he had passed his arm round the figure and raised her to a sitting position.
“Is she gone, Watson? Is there a spark left? Surely we are not too late!”
For half an hour it seemed that we were. What with actual suffocation144, and what with the poisonous fumes145 of the chloroform, the Lady Frances seemed to have passed the last point of recall. And then, at last, with artificial respiration146, with injected ether, with every device that science could suggest, some flutter of life, some quiver of the eyelids147, some dimming of a mirror, spoke of the slowly returning life. A cab had driven up, and Holmes, parting the blind, looked out at it. “Here is Lestrade with his warrant,” said he. “He will find that his birds have flown. And here,” he added as a heavy step hurried along the passage, “is someone who has a better right to nurse this lady than we have. Good morning, Mr. Green; I think that the sooner we can move the Lady Frances the better. Meanwhile, the funeral may proceed, and the poor old woman who still lies in that coffin may go to her last resting-place alone.”
“Should you care to add the case to your annals, my dear Watson,” said Holmes that evening, “it can only be as an example of that temporary eclipse to which even the best-balanced mind may be exposed. Such slips are common to all mortals, and the greatest is he who can recognize and repair them. To this modified credit I may, perhaps, make some claim. My night was haunted by the thought that somewhere a clue, a strange sentence, a curious observation, had come under my notice and had been too easily dismissed. Then, suddenly, in the gray of the morning, the words came back to me. It was the remark of the undertaker’s wife, as reported by Philip Green. She had said, ‘It should be there before now. It took longer, being out of the ordinary.’ It was the coffin of which she spoke. It had been out of the ordinary. That could only mean that it had been made to some special measurement. But why? Why? Then in an instant I remembered the deep sides, and the little wasted figure at the bottom. Why so large a coffin for so small a body? To leave room for another body. Both would be buried under the one certificate. It had all been so clear, if only my own sight had not been dimmed. At eight the Lady Frances would be buried. Our one chance was to stop the coffin before it left the house.
“It was a desperate chance that we might find her alive, but it was a chance, as the result showed. These people had never, to my knowledge, done a murder. They might shrink from actual violence at the last. They could bury her with no sign of how she met her end, and even if she were exhumed148 there was a chance for them. I hoped that such considerations might prevail with them. You can reconstruct the scene well enough. You saw the horrible den6 upstairs, where the poor lady had been kept so long. They rushed in and overpowered her with their chloroform, carried her down, poured more into the coffin to insure against her waking, and then screwed down the lid. A clever device, Watson. It is new to me in the annals of crime. If our ex-missionary friends escape the clutches of Lestrade, I shall expect to hear of some brilliant incidents in their future career.”
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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alterative
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| adj.（趋于）改变的，变质的，使体质逐渐康复的n.变质剂，体质改善疗法 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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14
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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inciter
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migratory
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| n.候鸟，迁移 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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passbooks
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| （建房互助会的）存取款记录簿( passbook的名词复数 )； （种族隔离时期所有黑人随身携带的）有色人种身份证 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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32
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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33
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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34
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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35
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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monograph
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| n.专题文章，专题著作 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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48
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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54
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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55
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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56
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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57
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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58
miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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59
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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60
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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61
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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62
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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63
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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65
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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67
fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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70
opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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71
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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73
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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74
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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76
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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81
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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83
beguiling
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| adj.欺骗的，诱人的v.欺骗( beguile的现在分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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84
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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85
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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87
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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registration
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| n.登记，注册，挂号 | |
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rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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91
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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92
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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93
pawned
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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wilting
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| 萎蔫 | |
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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pawnbroker
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| n.典当商，当铺老板 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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98
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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100
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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101
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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102
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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103
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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104
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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105
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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106
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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107
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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108
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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109
alienating
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| v.使疏远( alienate的现在分词 )；使不友好；转让；让渡（财产等） | |
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110
intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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111
intersection
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| n.交集，十字路口，交叉点；[计算机] 交集 | |
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112
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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113
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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114
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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115
pendulous
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| adj.下垂的；摆动的 | |
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116
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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117
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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118
unctuous
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| adj.油腔滑调的，大胆的 | |
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119
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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120
trumpery
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| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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121
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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122
debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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123
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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124
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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125
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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126
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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127
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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129
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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130
jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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131
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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132
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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134
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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135
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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136
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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137
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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138
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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139
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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140
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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141
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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142
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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143
narcotic
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| n.麻醉药，镇静剂；adj.麻醉的，催眠的 | |
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144
suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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145
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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146
respiration
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| n.呼吸作用；一次呼吸；植物光合作用 | |
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147
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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148
exhumed
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| v.挖出，发掘出( exhume的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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