eingerichtete wohnzimmer

the return of sherlock holmes by sir arthur conan doyle chapter x: “the adventure of the goldenpince-nez” when i look at the three massive manuscriptvolumes which contain our work for the year 1894 i confess that it is very difficult forme, out of such a wealth of material, to select the cases which are most interesting in themselvesand at the same time most conducive to a display of those peculiar powers for which my friendwas famous. as i turn over the pages i see my notes uponthe repulsive story of the red leech and the terrible death of crosby the banker. here also i find an account of the addletontragedy and the singular contents of the ancient

british barrow. the famous smith-mortimer succession casecomes also within this period, and so does the tracking and arrest of huret, the boulevardassassin—an exploit which won for holmes an autograph letter of thanks from the frenchpresident and the order of the legion of honour. each of these would furnish a narrative, buton the whole i am of opinion that none of them unite so many singular points of interestas the episode of yoxley old place, which includes not only the lamentable death ofyoung willoughby smith, but also those subsequent developments which threw so curious a lightupon the causes of the crime. it was a wild, tempestuous night towards theclose of november.

holmes and i sat together in silence all theevening, he engaged with a powerful lens deciphering the remains of the original inscription upona palimpsest, i deep in a recent treatise upon surgery. outside the wind howled down baker street,while the rain beat fiercely against the windows. it was strange there in the very depths ofthe town, with ten miles of man’s handiwork on every side of us, to feel the iron gripof nature, and to be conscious that to the huge elemental forces all london was no morethan the molehills that dot the fields. i walked to the window and looked out on thedeserted street. the occasional lamps gleamed on the expanseof muddy road and shining pavement.

a single cab was splashing its way from theoxford street end. “well, watson, it’s as well we have notto turn out to-night,” said holmes, laying aside his lens and rolling up the palimpsest. “i’ve done enough for one sitting. it is trying work for the eyes. so far as i can make out it is nothing moreexciting than an abbey’s accounts dating from the second half of the fifteenth century. halloa! what’s this?”

amid the droning of the wind there had comethe stamping of a horse’s hoofs and the long grind of a wheel as it rasped againstthe kerb. the cab which i had seen had pulled up atour door. “what can he want?” i ejaculated, as a man stepped out of it. “want! he wants us. and we, my poor watson, want overcoats andcravats and goloshes, and every aid that man ever invented to fight the weather.

wait a bit, though! there’s the cab off again! there’s hope yet. he’d have kept it if he had wanted us tocome. run down, my dear fellow, and open the door,for all virtuous folk have been long in bed.” when the light of the hall lamp fell uponour midnight visitor i had no difficulty in recognising him. it was young stanley hopkins, a promisingdetective, in whose career holmes had several times shown a very practical interest.

“is he in?” he asked, eagerly. “come up, my dear sir,” said holmes’svoice from above. “i hope you have no designs upon us on sucha night as this.” the detective mounted the stairs, and ourlamp gleamed upon his shining waterproof. i helped him out of it while holmes knockeda blaze out of the logs in the grate. “now, my dear hopkins, draw up and warmyour toes,” said he. “here’s a cigar, and the doctor has aprescription containing hot water and a lemon which is good medicine on a night like this. it must be something important which has broughtyou out in such a gale.”

“it is indeed, mr. holmes. i’ve had a bustling afternoon, i promiseyou. did you see anything of the yoxley case inthe latest editions?” “i’ve seen nothing later than the fifteenthcentury to-day.” “well, it was only a paragraph, and allwrong at that, so you have not missed anything. i haven’t let the grass grow under my feet. it’s down in kent, seven miles from chathamand three from the railway line. i was wired for at three-fifteen, reachedyoxley old place at five, conducted my investigation, was back at charing cross by the last train,and straight to you by cab.”

“which means, i suppose, that you are notquite clear about your case?” “it means that i can make neither head nortail of it. so far as i can see it is just as tangleda business as ever i handled, and yet at first it seemed so simple that one couldn’t gowrong. there’s no motive, mr. holmes. that’s what bothers me—i can’t put myhand on a motive. here’s a man dead—there’s no denyingthat—but, so far as i can see, no reason on earth why anyone should wish him harm.” holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in hischair.

“let us hear about it,” said he. “i’ve got my facts pretty clear,” saidstanley hopkins. “all i want now is to know what they allmean. the story, so far as i can make it out, islike this. some years ago this country house, yoxleyold place, was taken by an elderly man, who gave the name of professor coram. he was an invalid, keeping his bed half thetime, and the other half hobbling round the house with a stick or being pushed about thegrounds by the gardener in a bath-chair. he was well liked by the few neighbours whocalled upon him, and he has the reputation

down there of being a very learned man. his household used to consist of an elderlyhousekeeper, mrs. marker, and of a maid, susan tarlton. these have both been with him since his arrival,and they seem to be women of excellent character. the professor is writing a learned book, andhe found it necessary about a year ago to engage a secretary. the first two that he tried were not successes;but the third, mr. willoughby smith, a very young man straight from the university, seemsto have been just what his employer wanted. his work consisted in writing all the morningto the professor’s dictation, and he usually

spent the evening in hunting up referencesand passages which bore upon the next day’s work. this willoughby smith has nothing againsthim either as a boy at uppingham or as a young man at cambridge. i have seen his testimonials, and from thefirst he was a decent, quiet, hardworking fellow, with no weak spot in him at all. and yet this is the lad who has met his deaththis morning in the professor’s study under circumstances which can point only to murder.” the wind howled and screamed at the windows.

holmes and i drew closer to the fire whilethe young inspector slowly and point by point developed his singular narrative. “if you were to search all england,” saidhe, “i don’t suppose you could find a household more self-contained or free fromoutside influences. whole weeks would pass and not one of themgo past the garden gate. the professor was buried in his work and existedfor nothing else. young smith knew nobody in the neighbourhood,and lived very much as his employer did. the two women had nothing to take them fromthe house. mortimer the gardener, who wheels the bath-chair,is an army pensioner—an old crimean man

of excellent character. he does not live in the house, but in a three-roomedcottage at the other end of the garden. those are the only people that you would findwithin the grounds of yoxley old place. at the same time, the gate of the garden isa hundred yards from the main london to chatham road. it opens with a latch, and there is nothingto prevent anyone from walking in. “now i will give you the evidence of susantarlton, who is the only person who can say anything positive about the matter. it was in the forenoon, between eleven andtwelve.

she was engaged at the moment in hanging somecurtains in the upstairs front bedroom. professor coram was still in bed, for whenthe weather is bad he seldom rises before midday. the housekeeper was busied with some workin the back of the house. willoughby smith had been in his bedroom,which he uses as a sitting-room; but the maid heard him at that moment pass along the passageand descend to the study immediately below her. she did not see him, but she says that shecould not be mistaken in his quick, firm tread. she did not hear the study door close, buta minute or so later there was a dreadful

cry in the room below. it was a wild, hoarse scream, so strange andunnatural that it might have come either from a man or a woman. at the same instant there was a heavy thud,which shook the old house, and then all was silence. the maid stood petrified for a moment, andthen, recovering her courage, she ran downstairs. the study door was shut, and she opened it. inside young mr. willoughby smith was stretchedupon the floor. at first she could see no injury, but as shetried to raise him she saw that blood was

pouring from the underside of his neck. it was pierced by a very small but very deepwound, which had divided the carotid artery. the instrument with which the injury had beeninflicted lay upon the carpet beside him. it was one of those small sealing-wax knivesto be found on old-fashioned writing-tables, with an ivory handle and a stiff blade. it was part of the fittings of the professor’sown desk. “at first the maid thought that young smithwas already dead, but on pouring some water from the carafe over his forehead he openedhis eyes for an instant. ‘the professor,’ he murmured—‘it wasshe.’

the maid is prepared to swear that those werethe exact words. he tried desperately to say something else,and he held his right hand up in the air. then he fell back dead. “in the meantime the housekeeper had alsoarrived upon the scene, but she was just too late to catch the young man’s dying words. leaving susan with the body, she hurried tothe professor’s room. he was sitting up in bed horribly agitated,for he had heard enough to convince him that something terrible had occurred. mrs. marker is prepared to swear that theprofessor was still in his night-clothes,

and, indeed, it was impossible for him todress without the help of mortimer, whose orders were to come at twelve o’clock. the professor declares that he heard the distantcry, but that he knows nothing more. he can give no explanation of the young man’slast words, ‘the professor—it was she,’ but imagines that they were the outcome ofdelirium. he believes that willoughby smith had notan enemy in the world, and can give no reason for the crime. his first action was to send mortimer thegardener for the local police. a little later the chief constable sent forme.

nothing was moved before i got there, andstrict orders were given that no one should walk upon the paths leading to the house. it was a splendid chance of putting your theoriesinto practice, mr. sherlock holmes. there was really nothing wanting.” “except mr. sherlock holmes,” said mycompanion, with a somewhat bitter smile. “well, let us hear about it. what sort of job did you make of it?” “i must ask you first, mr. holmes, to glanceat this rough plan, which will give you a general idea of the position of the professor’sstudy and the various points of the case.

it will help you in following my investigation.” he unfolded the rough chart, which i herereproduce, and he laid it across holmes’s knee. i rose, and, standing behind holmes, i studiedit over his shoulder. a map of the murder scene and house “it is very rough, of course, and it onlydeals with the points which seem to me to be essential. all the rest you will see later for yourself. now, first of all, presuming that the assassinentered the house, how did he or she come

in? undoubtedly by the garden path and the backdoor, from which there is direct access to the study. any other way would have been exceedinglycomplicated. the escape must have also been made alongthat line, for of the two other exits from the room one was blocked by susan as she randownstairs and the other leads straight to the professor’s bedroom. i therefore directed my attention at onceto the garden path, which was saturated with recent rain and would certainly show any footmarks.

“my examination showed me that i was dealingwith a cautious and expert criminal. no footmarks were to be found on the path. there could be no question, however, thatsomeone had passed along the grass border which lines the path, and that he had doneso in order to avoid leaving a track. i could not find anything in the nature ofa distinct impression, but the grass was trodden down and someone had undoubtedly passed. it could only have been the murderer, sinceneither the gardener nor anyone else had been there that morning and the rain had only begunduring the night.” “one moment,” said holmes.

“where does this path lead to?” “to the road.” “how long is it?” “a hundred yards or so.” “at the point where the path passes throughthe gate you could surely pick up the tracks?” “unfortunately, the path was tiled at thatpoint.” “well, on the road itself?” “no; it was all trodden into mire.” “tut-tut!

well, then, these tracks upon the grass, werethey coming or going?” “it was impossible to say. there was never any outline.” “a large foot or a small?” “you could not distinguish.” holmes gave an ejaculation of impatience. “it has been pouring rain and blowing ahurricane ever since,” said he. “it will be harder to read now than thatpalimpsest. well, well, it can’t be helped.

what did you do, hopkins, after you had madecertain that you had made certain of nothing?” “i think i made certain of a good deal,mr. holmes. i knew that someone had entered the housecautiously from without. i next examined the corridor. it is lined with cocoanut matting and hadtaken no impression of any kind. this brought me into the study itself. it is a scantily-furnished room. the main article is a large writing-tablewith a fixed bureau. this bureau consists of a double column ofdrawers with a central small cupboard between

them. the drawers were open, the cupboard locked. the drawers, it seems, were always open, andnothing of value was kept in them. there were some papers of importance in thecupboard, but there were no signs that this had been tampered with, and the professorassures me that nothing was missing. it is certain that no robbery has been committed. “i come now to the body of the young man. it was found near the bureau, and just tothe left of it, as marked upon that chart. the stab was on the right side of the neckand from behind forwards, so that it is almost

impossible that it could have been self-inflicted.” “unless he fell upon the knife,” saidholmes. “exactly. the idea crossed my mind. but we found the knife some feet away fromthe body, so that seems impossible. then, of course, there are the man’s owndying words. and, finally, there was this very importantpiece of evidence which was found clasped in the dead man’s right hand.” from his pocket stanley hopkins drew a smallpaper packet.

he unfolded it and disclosed a golden pince-nez,with two broken ends of black silk cord dangling from the end of it. “willoughby smith had excellent sight,”he added. “there can be no question that this wassnatched from the face or the person of the assassin.” sherlock holmes took the glasses into hishand and examined them with the utmost attention and interest. he held them on his nose, endeavoured to readthrough them, went to the window and stared up the street with them, looked at them mostminutely in the full light of the lamp, and

finally, with a chuckle, seated himself atthe table and wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper, which he tossed across to stanleyhopkins. “that’s the best i can do for you,”said he. “it may prove to be of some use.” the astonished detective read the note aloud. it ran as follows:— “wanted, a woman of good address, attiredlike a lady. she has a remarkably thick nose, with eyeswhich are set close upon either side of it. she has a puckered forehead, a peering expression,and probably rounded shoulders.

there are indications that she has had recourseto an optician at least twice during the last few months. as her glasses are of remarkable strengthand as opticians are not very numerous, there should be no difficulty in tracing her.” holmes smiled at the astonishment of hopkins,which must have been reflected upon my features. “surely my deductions are simplicity itself,”said he. “it would be difficult to name any articleswhich afford a finer field for inference than a pair of glasses, especially so remarkablea pair as these. that they belong to a woman i infer from theirdelicacy, and also, of course, from the last

words of the dying man. as to her being a person of refinement andwell dressed, they are, as you perceive, handsomely mounted in solid gold, and it is inconceivablethat anyone who wore such glasses could be slatternly in other respects. you will find that the clips are too widefor your nose, showing that the lady’s nose was very broad at the base. this sort of nose is usually a short and coarseone, but there are a sufficient number of exceptions to prevent me from being dogmaticor from insisting upon this point in my description. my own face is a narrow one, and yet i findthat i cannot get my eyes into the centre,

or near the centre, of these glasses. therefore the lady’s eyes are set very nearto the sides of the nose. you will perceive, watson, that the glassesare concave and of unusual strength. a lady whose vision has been so extremelycontracted all her life is sure to have the physical characteristics of such vision, whichare seen in the forehead, the eyelids, and the shoulders.” “yes,” i said, “i can follow each ofyour arguments. i confess, however, that i am unable to understandhow you arrive at the double visit to the optician.”

holmes took the glasses in his hand. “you will perceive,” he said, “thatthe clips are lined with tiny bands of cork to soften the pressure upon the nose. one of these is discoloured and worn to someslight extent, but the other is new. evidently one has fallen off and been replaced. i should judge that the older of them hasnot been there more than a few months. they exactly correspond, so i gather thatthe lady went back to the same establishment for the second.” “by george, it’s marvellous!” criedhopkins, in an ecstasy of admiration.

“to think that i had all that evidence inmy hand and never knew it! i had intended, however, to go the round ofthe london opticians.” “of course you would. meanwhile, have you anything more to tellus about the case?” “nothing, mr. holmes. i think that you know as much as i do now—probablymore. we have had inquiries made as to any strangerseen on the country roads or at the railway station. we have heard of none.

what beats me is the utter want of all objectin the crime. not a ghost of a motive can anyone suggest.” “ah! there i am not in a position to help you. but i suppose you want us to come out to-morrow?” “if it is not asking too much, mr. holmes. there’s a train from charing cross to chathamat six in the morning, and we should be at yoxley old place between eight and nine.” “then we shall take it.

your case has certainly some features of greatinterest, and i shall be delighted to look into it. well, it’s nearly one, and we had best geta few hours’ sleep. i dare say you can manage all right on thesofa in front of the fire. i’ll light my spirit-lamp and give you acup of coffee before we start.” the gale had blown itself out next day, butit was a bitter morning when we started upon our journey. we saw the cold winter sun rise over the drearymarshes of the thames and the long, sullen reaches of the river, which i shall ever associatewith our pursuit of the andaman islander in

the earlier days of our career. after a long and weary journey we alightedat a small station some miles from chatham. while a horse was being put into a trap atthe local inn we snatched a hurried breakfast, and so we were all ready for business whenwe at last arrived at yoxley old place. a constable met us at the garden gate. “well, wilson, any news?” “no, sir, nothing.” “no reports of any stranger seen?” “no, sir.

down at the station they are certain thatno stranger either came or went yesterday.” “have you had inquiries made at inns andlodgings?” “yes, sir; there is no one that we cannotaccount for.” “well, it’s only a reasonable walk tochatham. anyone might stay there, or take a train withoutbeing observed. this is the garden path of which i spoke,mr. holmes. i’ll pledge my word there was no mark onit yesterday.” “on which side were the marks on the grass?” “this side, sir.

this narrow margin of grass between the pathand the flower-bed. i can’t see the traces now, but they wereclear to me then.” “yes, yes; someone has passed along,”said holmes, stooping over the grass border. “our lady must have picked her steps carefully,must she not, since on the one side she would leave a track on the path, and on the otheran even clearer one on the soft bed?” “yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand.” i saw an intent look pass over holmes’sface. “you say that she must have come back thisway?” “yes, sir; there is no other.”

“on this strip of grass?” “certainly, mr. holmes.” “hum! it was a very remarkable performance—veryremarkable. well, i think we have exhausted the path. let us go farther. this garden door is usually kept open, i suppose? then this visitor had nothing to do but towalk in. the idea of murder was not in her mind, orshe would have provided herself with some

sort of weapon, instead of having to pickthis knife off the writing-table. she advanced along this corridor, leavingno traces upon the cocoanut matting. then she found herself in this study. how long was she there? we have no means of judging.” holmes looking at a blood stain on a wall “not more than a few minutes, sir. i forgot to tell you that mrs. marker, thehousekeeper, had been in there tidying not very long before—about a quarter of an hour,she says.”

“well, that gives us a limit. our lady enters this room and what does shedo? she goes over to the writing-table. what for? not for anything in the drawers. if there had been anything worth her takingit would surely have been locked up. no; it was for something in that wooden bureau. halloa! what is that scratch upon the faceof it? just hold a match, watson.

why did you not tell me of this, hopkins?” the mark which he was examining began uponthe brass work on the right-hand side of the keyhole, and extended for about four inches,where it had scratched the varnish from the surface. “i noticed it, mr. holmes. but you’ll always find scratches round akeyhole.” “this is recent, quite recent. see how the brass shines where it is cut. an old scratch would be the same colour asthe surface.

look at it through my lens. there’s the varnish, too, like earth oneach side of a furrow. is mrs. marker there?” a sad-faced, elderly woman came into the room. “did you dust this bureau yesterday morning?” “yes, sir.” “did you notice this scratch?” “no, sir, i did not.” “i am sure you did not, for a duster wouldhave swept away these shreds of varnish.

who has the key of this bureau?” “the professor keeps it on his watch-chain.” “is it a simple key?” “no, sir; it is a chubb’s key.” “very good. mrs. marker, you can go. now we are making a little progress. our lady enters the room, advances to thebureau, and either opens it or tries to do so.

while she is thus engaged young willoughbysmith enters the room. in her hurry to withdraw the key she makesthis scratch upon the door. he seizes her, and she, snatching up the nearestobject, which happens to be this knife, strikes at him in order to make him let go his hold. the blow is a fatal one. he falls and she escapes, either with or withoutthe object for which she has come. is susan the maid there? could anyone have got away through that doorafter the time that you heard the cry, susan?” “no sir; it is impossible.

before i got down the stair i’d have seenanyone in the passage. besides, the door never opened, for i wouldhave heard it.” “that settles this exit. then no doubt the lady went out the way shecame. i understand that this other passage leadsonly to the professor’s room. there is no exit that way?” “no, sir.” “we shall go down it and make the acquaintanceof the professor. halloa, hopkins!

this is very important, very important indeed. the professor’s corridor is also lined withcocoanut matting.” “well, sir, what of that?” “don’t you see any bearing upon the case? well, well, i don’t insist upon it. no doubt i am wrong. and yet it seems to me to be suggestive. come with me and introduce me.” we passed down the passage, which was of thesame length as that which led to the garden.

at the end was a short flight of steps endingin a door. our guide knocked, and then ushered us intothe professor’s bedroom. it was a very large chamber, lined with innumerablevolumes, which had overflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in the corners, or were stackedall round at the base of the cases. the bed was in the centre of the room, andin it, propped up with pillows, was the owner of the house. i have seldom seen a more remarkable-lookingperson. it was a gaunt, aquiline face which was turnedtowards us, with piercing dark eyes, which lurked in deep hollows under overhung andtufted brows.

his hair and beard were white, save that thelatter was curiously stained with yellow around his mouth. a cigarette glowed amid the tangle of whitehair, and the air of the room was fetid with stale tobacco-smoke. as he held out his hand to holmes i perceivedthat it also was stained yellow with nicotine. “a smoker, mr. holmes?” said he, speakingwell-chosen english with a curious little mincing accent. “pray take a cigarette. and you, sir?

i can recommend them, for i have them especiallyprepared by ionides of alexandria. he sends me a thousand at a time, and i grieveto say that i have to arrange for a fresh supply every fortnight. bad, sir, very bad, but an old man has fewpleasures. tobacco and my work—that is all that isleft to me.” holmes had lit a cigarette, and was shootinglittle darting glances all over the room. “tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco,”the old man exclaimed. “alas! what a fatal interruption!

who could have foreseen such a terrible catastrophe? so estimable a young man! i assure you that after a few months’ traininghe was an admirable assistant. what do you think of the matter, mr. holmes?” “i have not yet made up my mind.” “i shall indeed be indebted to you if youcan throw a light where all is so dark to us. to a poor bookworm and invalid like myselfsuch a blow is paralyzing. i seem to have lost the faculty of thought.

but you are a man of action—you are a manof affairs. it is part of the everyday routine of yourlife. you can preserve your balance in every emergency. we are fortunate indeed in having you at ourside.” holmes was pacing up and down one side ofthe room whilst the old professor was talking. i observed that he was smoking with extraordinaryrapidity. it was evident that he shared our host’sliking for the fresh alexandrian cigarettes. “yes, sir, it is a crushing blow,” saidthe old man. “that is my magnum opus—the pile of paperson the side table yonder.

it is my analysis of the documents found inthe coptic monasteries of syria and egypt, a work which will cut deep at the very foundationsof revealed religion. with my enfeebled health i do not know whetheri shall ever be able to complete it now that my assistant has been taken from me. dear me, mr. holmes; why, you are even a quickersmoker than i am myself.” holmes smiled. “i am a connoisseur,” said he, takinganother cigarette from the box—his fourth—and lighting it from the stub of that which hehad finished. “i will not trouble you with any lengthycross-examination, professor coram, since

i gather that you were in bed at the timeof the crime and could know nothing about it. i would only ask this. what do you imagine that this poor fellowmeant by his last words: ‘the professor—it was she’?” the professor shook his head. “susan is a country girl,” said he, “andyou know the incredible stupidity of that class. i fancy that the poor fellow murmured someincoherent delirious words, and that she twisted

them into this meaningless message.” “i see. you have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?” “possibly an accident; possibly—i onlybreathe it among ourselves—a suicide. young men have their hidden troubles—someaffair of the heart, perhaps, which we have never known. it is a more probable supposition than murder.” “but the eye-glasses?” i am only a student—a man of dreams.

i cannot explain the practical things of life. but still, we are aware, my friend, that love-gagesmay take strange shapes. by all means take another cigarette. it is a pleasure to see anyone appreciatethem so. a fan, a glove, glasses—who knows what articlemay be carried as a token or treasured when a man puts an end to his life? this gentleman speaks of footsteps in thegrass; but, after all, it is easy to be mistaken on such a point. as to the knife, it might well be thrown farfrom the unfortunate man as he fell.

it is possible that i speak as a child, butto me it seems that willoughby smith has met his fate by his own hand.” holmes seemed struck by the theory thus putforward, and he continued to walk up and down for some time, lost in thought and consumingcigarette after cigarette. “tell me, professor coram,” he said, atlast, “what is in that cupboard in the bureau?” “nothing that would help a thief. family papers, letters from my poor wife,diplomas of universities which have done me honour. here is the key.

you can look for yourself.” holmes picked up the key and looked at itfor an instant; then he handed it back. “no; i hardly think that it would help me,”said he. “i should prefer to go quietly down to yourgarden and turn the whole matter over in my head. there is something to be said for the theoryof suicide which you have put forward. we must apologize for having intruded uponyou, professor coram, and i promise that we won’t disturb you until after lunch. at two o’clock we will come again and reportto you anything which may have happened in

the interval.” holmes was curiously distrait, and we walkedup and down the garden path for some time in silence. “have you a clue?” i asked, at last. “it depends upon those cigarettes that ismoked,” said he. “it is possible that i am utterly mistaken. the cigarettes will show me.” “my dear holmes,” i exclaimed, “howon earth—”

“well, well, you may see for yourself. if not, there’s no harm done. of course, we always have the optician clueto fall back upon, but i take a short cut when i can get it. ah, here is the good mrs. marker! let us enjoy five minutes of instructive conversationwith her.” i may have remarked before that holmes had,when he liked, a peculiarly ingratiating way with women, and that he very readily establishedterms of confidence with them. in half the time which he had named he hadcaptured the housekeeper’s goodwill, and

was chatting with her as if he had known herfor years. “yes, mr. holmes, it is as you say, sir. he does smoke something terrible. all day and sometimes all night, sir. i’ve seen that room of a morning—well,sir, you’d have thought it was a london fog. poor young mr. smith, he was a smoker also,but not as bad as the professor. his health—well, i don’t know that it’sbetter nor worse for the smoking.” “ah!” said holmes, “but it kills theappetite.”

“well, i don’t know about that, sir.” “i suppose the professor eats hardly anything?” “well, he is variable. i’ll say that for him.” “i’ll wager he took no breakfast thismorning, and won’t face his lunch after all the cigarettes i saw him consume.” “well, you’re out there, sir, as it happens,for he ate a remarkable big breakfast this morning. i don’t know when i’ve known him makea better one, and he’s ordered a good dish

of cutlets for his lunch. i’m surprised myself, for since i came intothat room yesterday and saw young mr. smith lying there on the floor i couldn’t bearto look at food. well, it takes all sorts to make a world,and the professor hasn’t let it take his appetite away.” we loitered the morning away in the garden. stanley hopkins had gone down to the villageto look into some rumours of a strange woman who had been seen by some children on thechatham road the previous morning. as to my friend, all his usual energy seemedto have deserted him.

i had never known him handle a case in sucha half-hearted fashion. even the news brought back by hopkins thathe had found the children and that they had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly correspondingwith holmes’s description, and wearing either spectacles or eye-glasses, failed to rouseany sign of keen interest. he was more attentive when susan, who waitedupon us at lunch, volunteered the information that she believed mr. smith had been out fora walk yesterday morning, and that he had only returned half an hour before the tragedyoccurred. i could not myself see the bearing of thisincident, but i clearly perceived that holmes was weaving it into the general scheme whichhe had formed in his brain.

suddenly he sprang from his chair and glancedat his watch. “two o’clock, gentlemen,” said he. “we must go up and have it out with ourfriend the professor.” the old man had just finished his lunch, andcertainly his empty dish bore evidence to the good appetite with which his housekeeperhad credited him. he was, indeed, a weird figure as he turnedhis white mane and his glowing eyes towards the eternal cigarette smouldered in his mouth. he had been dressed and was seated in an arm-chairby the fire. “well, mr. holmes, have you solved thismystery yet?”

he shoved the large tin of cigarettes whichstood on a table beside him towards my companion. holmes stretched out his hand at the samemoment, and between them they tipped the box over the edge. for a minute or two we were all on our kneesretrieving stray cigarettes from impossible places. when we rose again i observed that holmes’seyes were shining and his cheeks tinged with colour. only at a crisis have i seen those battle-signalsflying. “yes,” said he, “i have solved it.”

stanley hopkins and i stared in amazement. something like a sneer quivered over the gauntfeatures of the old professor. “indeed! in the garden?” “no, here.” “here! when?” “this instant.” “you are surely joking, mr. sherlock holmes.

you compel me to tell you that this is tooserious a matter to be treated in such a fashion.” “i have forged and tested every link ofmy chain, professor coram, and i am sure that it is sound. what your motives are or what exact part youplay in this strange business i am not yet able to say. in a few minutes i shall probably hear itfrom your own lips. meanwhile i will reconstruct what is pastfor your benefit, so that you may know the information which i still require. “a lady yesterday entered your study.

she came with the intention of possessingherself of certain documents which were in your bureau. she had a key of her own. i have had an opportunity of examining yours,and i do not find that slight discolouration which the scratch made upon the varnish wouldhave produced. you were not an accessory, therefore, andshe came, so far as i can read the evidence, without your knowledge to rob you.” the professor blew a cloud from his lips. “this is most interesting and instructive,”said he.

“have you no more to add? surely, having traced this lady so far, youcan also say what has become of her.” “i will endeavour to do so. in the first place she was seized by yoursecretary, and stabbed him in order to escape. this catastrophe i am inclined to regard asan unhappy accident, for i am convinced that the lady had no intention of inflicting sogrievous an injury. an assassin does not come unarmed. horrified by what she had done she rushedwildly away from the scene of the tragedy. unfortunately for her she had lost her glassesin the scuffle, and as she was extremely short-sighted

she was really helpless without them. she ran down a corridor, which she imaginedto be that by which she had come—both were lined with cocoanut matting—and it was onlywhen it was too late that she understood that she had taken the wrong passage and that herretreat was cut off behind her. what was she to do? she could not go back. she could not remain where she was. she must go on. she went on.

she mounted a stair, pushed open a door, andfound herself in your room.” the old man sat with his mouth open staringwildly at holmes. amazement and fear were stamped upon his expressivefeatures. now, with an effort, he shrugged his shouldersand burst into insincere laughter. “all very fine, mr. holmes,” said he. “but there is one little flaw in your splendidtheory. i was myself in my room, and i never leftit during the day.” “i am aware of that, professor coram.” “and you mean to say that i could lie uponthat bed and not be aware that a woman had

entered my room?” “i never said so. you were aware of it. you spoke with her. you recognized her. you aided her to escape.” again the professor burst into high-keyedlaughter. he had risen to his feet and his eyes glowedlike embers. “you are mad!” he cried.

“you are talking insanely. i helped her to escape? where is she now?” “she is there,” said holmes, and he pointedto a high bookcase in the corner of the room. i saw the old man throw up his arms, a terribleconvulsion passed over his grim face, and he fell back in his chair. at the same instant the bookcase at whichholmes pointed swung round upon a hinge, and a woman rushed out into the room. “you are right!” she cried, in a strangeforeign voice.

“you are right! i am here.” she was brown with the dust and draped withthe cobwebs which had come from the walls of her hiding-place. her face, too, was streaked with grime, andat the best she could never have been handsome, for she had the exact physical characteristicswhich holmes had divined, with, in addition, a long and obstinate chin. what with her natural blindness, and whatwith the change from dark to light, she stood as one dazed, blinking about her to see whereand who we were.

and yet, in spite of all these disadvantages,there was a certain nobility in the woman’s bearing, a gallantry in the defiant chin andin the upraised head, which compelled something of respect and admiration. stanley hopkins had laid his hand upon herarm and claimed her as his prisoner, but she waved him aside gently, and yet with an overmasteringdignity which compelled obedience. the old man lay back in his chair, with atwitching face, and stared at her with brooding eyes. “yes, sir, i am your prisoner,” she said. “from where i stood i could hear everything,and i know that you have learned the truth.

i confess it all. it was i who killed the young man. but you are right, you who say it was an accident. i did not even know that it was a knife whichi held in my hand, for in my despair i snatched anything from the table and struck at himto make him let me go. it is the truth that i tell.” “madam,” said holmes, “i am sure thatit is the truth. i fear that you are far from well.” she had turned a dreadful colour, the moreghastly under the dark dust-streaks upon her

face. she seated herself on the side of the bed;then she resumed. “i have only a little time here,” shesaid, “but i would have you to know the whole truth. i am this man’s wife. he is not an englishman. he is a russian. his name i will not tell.” for the first time the old man stirred.

“god bless you, anna!” he cried. “god bless you!” she cast a look of the deepest disdain inhis direction. “why should you cling so hard to that wretchedlife of yours, sergius?” said she. “it has done harm to many and good to none—noteven to yourself. however, it is not for me to cause the frailthread to be snapped before god’s time. i have enough already upon my soul since icrossed the threshold of this cursed house. but i must speak or i shall be too late. “i have said, gentlemen, that i am thisman’s wife.

he was fifty and i a foolish girl of twentywhen we married. it was in a city of russia, a university—iwill not name the place.” “god bless you, anna!” murmured the oldman again. “we were reformers—revolutionists—nihilists,you understand. he and i and many more. then there came a time of trouble, a policeofficer was killed, many were arrested, evidence was wanted, and in order to save his own lifeand to earn a great reward my husband betrayed his own wife and his companions. yes, we were all arrested upon his confession.

some of us found our way to the gallows andsome to siberia. i was among these last, but my term was notfor life. my husband came to england with his ill-gottengains, and has lived in quiet ever since, knowing well that if the brotherhood knewwhere he was not a week would pass before justice would be done.” the old man reached out a trembling hand andhelped himself to a cigarette. “i am in your hands, anna,” said he. “you were always good to me.” “i have not yet told you the height of hisvillainy,” said she.

“among our comrades of the order there wasone who was the friend of my heart. he was noble, unselfish, loving—all thatmy husband was not. he hated violence. we were all guilty—if that is guilt—buthe was not. he wrote for ever dissuading us from sucha course. these letters would have saved him. so would my diary, in which from day to dayi had entered both my feelings towards him and the view which each of us had taken. my husband found and kept both diary and letters.

he hid them, and he tried hard to swear awaythe young man’s life. in this he failed, but alexis was sent a convictto siberia, where now, at this moment, he works in a salt mine. think of that, you villain, you villain; now,now, at this very moment, alexis, a man whose name you are not worthy to speak, works andlives like a slave, and yet i have your life in my hands and i let you go.” “you were always a noble woman, anna,”said the old man, puffing at his cigarette. she had risen, but she fell back again witha little cry of pain. “i must finish,” she said.

“when my term was over i set myself to getthe diary and letters which, if sent to the russian government, would procure my friend’srelease. i knew that my husband had come to england. after months of searching i discovered wherehe was. i knew that he still had the diary, for wheni was in siberia i had a letter from him once reproaching me and quoting some passages fromits pages. yet i was sure that with his revengeful naturehe would never give it to me of his own free will. i must get it for myself.

with this object i engaged an agent from aprivate detective firm, who entered my husband’s house as secretary—it was your second secretary,sergius, the one who left you so hurriedly. he found that papers were kept in the cupboard,and he got an impression of the key. he would not go farther. he furnished me with a plan of the house,and he told me that in the forenoon the study was always empty, as the secretary was employedup here. so at last i took my courage in both handsand i came down to get the papers for myself. i succeeded, but at what a cost! “i had just taken the papers and was lockingthe cupboard when the young man seized me.

i had seen him already that morning. he had met me in the road and i had askedhim to tell me where professor coram lived, not knowing that he was in his employ.” “exactly! exactly!” said holmes. “the secretary came back and told his employerof the woman he had met. then in his last breath he tried to send amessage that it was she—the she whom he had just discussed with him.” “you must let me speak,” said the woman,in an imperative voice, and her face contracted

as if in pain. “when he had fallen i rushed from the room,chose the wrong door, and found myself in my husband’s room. he spoke of giving me up. i showed him that if he did so his life wasin my hands. if he gave me to the law i could give himto the brotherhood. it was not that i wished to live for my ownsake, but it was that i desired to accomplish my purpose. he knew that i would do what i said—thathis own fate was involved in mine.

for that reason and for no other he shieldedme. he thrust me into that dark hiding-place,a relic of old days, known only to himself. he took his meals in his own room, and sowas able to give me part of his food. it was agreed that when the police left thehouse i should slip away by night and come back no more. but in some way you have read our plans.” she tore from the bosom of her dress a smallpacket. “these are my last words,” said she; “hereis the packet which will save alexis. i confide it to your honour and to your loveof justice.

take it! you will deliver it at the russian embassy. now i have done my duty, and—” “stop her!” cried holmes. he had bounded across the room and had wrencheda small phial from her hand. “too late!” she said, sinking back onthe bed. “too late! i took the poison before i left my hiding-place.

my head swims! i am going! i charge you, sir, to remember the packet.” “a simple case, and yet in some ways aninstructive one,” holmes remarked, as we travelled back to town. “it hinged from the outset upon the pince-nez. but for the fortunate chance of the dyingman having seized these i am not sure that we could ever have reached our solution. it was clear to me from the strength of theglasses that the wearer must have been very

blind and helpless when deprived of them. when you asked me to believe that she walkedalong a narrow strip of grass without once making a false step i remarked, as you mayremember, that it was a noteworthy performance. in my mind i set it down as an impossibleperformance, save in the unlikely case that she had a second pair of glasses. i was forced, therefore, to seriously considerthe hypothesis that she had remained within the house. on perceiving the similarity of the two corridorsit became clear that she might very easily have made such a mistake, and in that caseit was evident that she must have entered

the professor’s room. i was keenly on the alert, therefore, forwhatever would bear out this supposition, and i examined the room narrowly for anythingin the shape of a hiding-place. the carpet seemed continuous and firmly nailed,so i dismissed the idea of a trap-door. there might well be a recess behind the books. as you are aware, such devices are commonin old libraries. i observed that books were piled on the floorat all other points, but that one bookcase was left clear. this, then, might be the door.

i could see no marks to guide me, but thecarpet was of a dun colour, which lends itself very well to examination. i therefore smoked a great number of thoseexcellent cigarettes, and i dropped the ash all over the space in front of the suspectedbookcase. it was a simple trick, but exceedingly effective. i then went downstairs and i ascertained,in your presence, watson, without your perceiving the drift of my remarks, that professor coram’sconsumption of food had increased—as one would expect when he is supplying a secondperson. we then ascended to the room again, when,by upsetting the cigarette-box, i obtained

a very excellent view of the floor, and wasable to see quite clearly, from the traces upon the cigarette ash, that the prisonerhad, in our absence, come out from her retreat. well, hopkins, here we are at charing cross,and i congratulate you on having brought your case to a successful conclusion. you are going to head-quarters, no doubt. i think, watson, you and i will drive togetherto the russian embassy.”

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