Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

A Study In Scarlet: Chapter 4 WHAT JOHN RANCE HAD TO TELL

IT WAS one o'clock when we left No. 3, Lauriston Gardens. SherlockHolmes led me to the nearest telegraph office, whence he dispatched along telegram. He then hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to take us tothe address given us by Lestrade."There is nothing like first-hand evidence," he remarked; "as a matterof fact, my mind is entirely made up upon the case, but still we may aswell learn all that is to be learned.""You amaze me, Holmes," said I. "Surely you are not as sure as youpretend to be of all those particulars which you gave.""There's no room for a mistake," he answered. "The very first thingwhich I observed on arriving there was that a cab had made two ruts withits wheels close to the curb. Now, up to last night, we have had no rain fora week, so that those wheels which left such a deep impression must havebeen there during the night. There were the marks of the horse's hoofs,too, the outline of one of which was far more clearly cut than that of theother three, showing that that was a new shoe. Since the cab was thereafter the rain began, and was not there at any time during the morning-Ihave Gregson's word for that-it follows that it must have been thereduring the night, and therefore, that it brought those two individuals to thehouse."[33] "That seems simple enough," said I; "but how about the otherman's height?""Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten, can be told fromthe length of his stride. It is a simple calculation enough, though there isno use my boring you with figures. I had this fellow's stride both on theclay outside and on the dust within. Then I had a way of checking mycalculation. When a man writes on a wall, his instinct leads him to writeabove the level of his own eyes. Now that writing was just over six feetfrom the ground. It was child's play.""And his age?" I asked."Well, if a man can stride four and a half feet without the smallesteffort, he can't be quite in the sere and yellow. That was the breadth of apuddle on the garden walk which he had evidently walked across. Patentleather boots had gone round, and Square-toes had hopped over. There isno mystery about it at all. I am simply applying to ordinary life a few ofthose precepts of observation and deduction which I advocated in thatarticle. Is there anything else that puzzles you?""The finger-nails and the Trichinopoly," I suggested."The writing on the wall was done with a man's forefinger dipped in blood. My glass allowed me to observe that the plaster was slightlyscratched in doing it, which would not have been the case if the man'snail had been trimmed. I gathered up some scattered ash from the floor. Itwas dark in colour and flaky -such an ash is only made by aTrichinopoly. I have made a special study of cigar ashes-in fact, I havewritten a monograph upon the subject. I flatter myself that I candistinguish at a glance the ash of any known brand either of cigar or oftobacco. It is just in such details that the skilled detective differs from theGregson and Lestrade type.""And the florid face?" I asked."Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I have no doubt that I wasright. You must not ask me that at the present state of the affair."I passed my hand over my brow. "My head is in a whirl," I remarked;"the more one thinks of it the more mysterious it grows. How came thesetwo men- if there were two men-into an empty house? What has becomeof the cabman who drove them? How could one man compel another totake poison? Where did the blood come from? What was the object of themurderer, since robbery had no part in it? How came the woman's ringthere? Above all, why should the second man write up the German wordRACHE before decamping? I confess that I cannot see any possible way ofreconciling all these facts."My companion smiled approvingly."You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly and well," hesaid. "There is much that is still obscure, though I have quite made up mymind on the main facts. As to poor Lestrade's discovery, it was simply ablind intended to put the police upon a wrong track, by suggestingSocialism and secret societies. It was not done by a German. The A, ifyou noticed, was printed somewhat after the German fashion. Now, a realGerman invariably prints in the Latin character, so that we may safely saythat this was not written by one, but by a clumsy imitator who overdid hispart. It was simply a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. I'm notgoing to tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You know a conjurergets no credit when once he has explained his trick; and if I show you toomuch of my method of working, you will come to the conclusion that Iam a very ordinary individual after all.""I shall never do that," I answered; "you have brought detection as nearan exact science as it ever will be brought in this world."[34] My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and theearnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was assensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of herbeauty."I'll tell you one other thing," he said. "Patent-leathers and Square-toescame in the same cab, and they walked down the pathway together asfriendly as possible-arm-in-arm, in all probability. When they got inside,they walked up and down the room-or rather, Patent-leathers stood stillwhile Square-toes walked up and down. I could read all that in the dust;and I could read that as he walked he grew more and more excited. Thatis shown by the increased length of his strides. He was talking all thewhile, and working himself up, no doubt, into a fury. Then the tragedy occurred. I've told you all I know myself now, for the rest is meresurmise and conjecture. We have a good working basis, however, onwhich to start. We must hurry up, for I want to go to Halle's concert tohear Norman Neruda this afternoon."This conversation had occurred while our cab had been threading itsway through a long succession of dingy streets and dreary byways. In thedingiest and dreariest of them our driver suddenly came to a stand."That's Audley Court in there," he said, pointing to a narrow slit in theline of dead-coloured brick. "You'll find me here when you come back."Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow passage led usinto a quadrangle paved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings. Wepicked our way among groups of dirty children, and through lines ofdiscoloured linen, until we came to Number 46, the door of which wasdecorated with a small slip of brass on which the name Rance wasengraved. On inquiry we found that the constable was in bed, and wewere shown into a little front parlour to await his coming.He appeared presently, looking a little irritable at being disturbed in hisslumbers. "I made my report at the office," he said.Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with itpensively. "We thought that we should like to hear it all from your ownlips," he said."I shall be most happy to tell you anything I can," the constableanswered, with his eyes upon the little golden disc. "Just let us hear it all in your own way as it occurred."Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knitted his brows, as thoughdetermined not to omit anything in his narrative."I'll tell it ye from the beginning," he said. "My time is from ten atnight to six in the morning. At eleven there was a fight at the White Hart;but bar that all was quiet enough on the beat. At one o'clock it began torain, and I met Harry Murcher-him who has the Holland Grove beat-andwe stood together at the corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin'.Presently-maybe about two or a little after-I thought I would take a lookround and see that all was right down the Brixton Road. It was preciousdirty and lonely. Not a soul did I meet all the way down, though a cab ortwo went past me. I was a-strollin' down, thinkin' between ourselves howuncommon handy a four of gin hot would be, when suddenly the glint of alight caught my eye in the window of that same house. Now, I knew thatthem two houses in Lauriston Gardens was empty on account of him thatowns them who won't have the drains seed to, though the very last tenantwhat lived in one of them died o' typhoid fever. I was knocked all in aheap, therefore, at seeing a light in the window, and I suspected assomething was wrong. When I got to the door- -"[35] "You stopped, and then walked back to the garden gate," mycompanion interrupted. "What did you do that for?"Rance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sherlock Holmes with theutmost amazement upon his features."Why, that's true, sir," he said; "though how you come to know it,Heaven only knows. Ye see when I got up to the door, it was so still andso lonesome, that I thought I'd be none the worse for someone with me. Iain't afeared of anything on this side o' the grave; but I thought thatmaybe it was him that died o' the typhoid inspecting the drains whatkilled him. The thought gave me a kind o' turn, and I walked back to thegate to see if I could see Murcher's lantern, but there wasn't no sign ofhim nor of anyone else.""There was no one in the street?""Not a livin' soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then I pulled myselftogether and went back and pushed the door open. All was quiet inside, soI went into the room where the light was a-burnin'. There was a candleflickerin' on the mantelpiece-a red wax one-and by its light I saw- -""Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round the room severaltimes, and you knelt down by the body, and then you walked through andtried the kitchen door, and then- -"John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and suspicion inhis eyes. "Where was you hid to see all that?" he cried. "It seems to methat you knows a deal more than you should."Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the constable."Don't go arresting me for the murder," he said. "I am one of the houndsand not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestrade will answer for that. Goon, though. What did you do next?"Rance resumed his seat, without, however, losing his mystifiedexpression. "I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. Thatbrought Murcher and two more to the spot." "Was the street empty then?""Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good goes.""What do you mean?"The constable's features broadened into a grin. "I've seen many adrunk chap in my time," he said, "but never anyone so cryin' drunk asthat cove. He was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin' up ag'in therailings, and a-singin' at the pitch o' his lungs about Columbine's Newfangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldn't stand, far less help.""What sort of a man was he?" asked Sherlock Holmes.John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression. "Hewas an uncommon drunk sort o' man," he said. "He'd ha' found hisself inthe station if we hadn't been so took up.""His face-his dress-didn't you notice them?" Holmes broke inimpatiently."I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop him up-meand Murcher between us. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lowerpart muffled round- -""That will do," cried Holmes. "What became of him?""We'd enough to do without lookin' after him," the policeman said, inan aggrieved voice. "I'll wager he found his way home all right.""How was he dressed?"[36] "A brown overcoat.""Had he a whip in his hand?" "A whip-no.""He must have left it behind," muttered my companion. "You didn'thappen to see or hear a cab after that?""No.""There's a half-sovereign for you," my companion said, standing upand taking his hat. "I am afraid, Rance, that you will never rise in theforce. That head of yours should be for use as well as ornament. Youmight have gained your sergeant's stripes last night. The man whom youheld in your hands is the man who holds the clue of this mystery, andwhom we are seeking. There is no use of arguing about it now; I tell youthat it is so. Come along, Doctor."We started off for the cab together, leaving our informant incredulous,but obviously uncomfortable."The blundering fool!" Holmes said, bitterly, as we drove back to ourlodgings. "Just to think of his having such an incomparable bit of goodluck, and not taking advantage of it.""I am rather in the dark still. It is true that the description of this mantallies with your idea of the second party in this mystery. But why shouldhe come back to the house after leaving it? That is not the way ofcriminals.""The ring, man, the ring: that was what he came back for. If we have noother way of catching him, we can always bait our line with the ring. Ishall have him, Doctor-I'll lay you two to one that I have him. I mustthank you for it all. I might not have gone but for you, and so have missedthe finest study I ever came across: a study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn'twe use a little art jargon. There's the scarlet thread of murder runningthrough the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, andisolate it, and expose every inch of it. And now for lunch, and then forNorman Neruda. Her attack and her bowing are splendid. What's thatlittle thing of Chopin's she plays so magnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay."Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled away like alark while I meditated upon the many-sidedness of the human mind.