Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

A Study In Scarlet: Chapter 7 LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

THE intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so momentous andso unexpected that we were all three fairly dumfounded. Gregson sprangout of his chair and upset the remainder of his whisky and water. I staredin silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were compressed and his browsdrawn down over his eyes."Stangerson too!" he muttered. "The plot thickens.""It was quite thick enough before," grumbled Lestrade, taking a chair."I seem to have dropped into a sort of council of war.""Are you-are you sure of this piece of intelligence?" stammeredGregson."I have just come from his room," said Lestrade. "I was the first todiscover what had occurred.""We have been hearing Gregson's view of the matter," Holmesobserved. "Would you mind letting us know what you have seen anddone?""I have no objection," Lestrade answered, seating himself. "I freelyconfess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson was concerned in thedeath of Drebber. This fresh development has shown me that I wascompletely mistaken. Full of the one idea, I set myself to find out whathad become of the secretary. They had been [47] seen together at EustonStation about half-past eight on the evening of the 3rd. At two in themorning Drebber had been found in the Brixton Road. The questionwhich confronted me was to find out how Stangerson had been employedbetween 8:30 and the time of the crime, and what had become of himafterwards. I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description of the man,and warning them to keep a watch upon the American boats. I then set towork calling upon all the hotels and lodging-houses in the vicinity ofEuston. You see, I argued that if Drebber and his companion had becomeseparated, the natural course for the latter would be to put up somewherein the vicinity for the night, and then to hang about the station again nextmorning.""They would be likely to agree on some meeting-place beforehand,"remarked Holmes."So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday evening in makinginquiries entirely without avail. This morning I began very early, and ateight o'clock I reached Halliday's Private Hotel, in Little George Street.On my inquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson was living there, they atonce answered me in the affirmative."'No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting,' they said. 'He has been waiting for a gentleman for two days.'"'Where is he now?' I asked."'He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be called at nine.'"'I will go up and see him at once,' I said."It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his nervesand lead him to say something unguarded. The boots volunteered to showme the room: it was on the second floor, and there was a small corridorleading up to it. The boots pointed out the door to me, and was about togo downstairs again when I saw something that made me feel sickish, inspite of my twenty years' experience. From under the door there curled alittle red ribbon of blood, which had meandered across the passage andformed a little pool along the skirting at the other side. I gave a cry, whichbrought the boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The door waslocked on the inside, but we put our shoulders to it, and knocked it in. Thewindow of the room was open, and beside the window, all huddled up,lay the body of a man in his nightdress. He was quite dead, and had beenfor some time, for his limbs were rigid and cold. When we turned himover, the boots recognized him at once as being the same gentleman whohad engaged the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson. The cause ofdeath was a deep stab in the left side, which must have penetrated theheart. And now comes the strangest part of the affair. What do yousuppose was above the murdered man?"I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment of coming horror, evenbefore Sherlock Holmes answered."The word RACHE, written in letters of blood," he said."That was it," said Lestrade, in an awestruck voice; and we were allsilent for a while.There was something so methodical and so incomprehensible about thedeeds of this unknown assassin, that it imparted a fresh ghastliness to hiscrimes. My nerves, which were steady enough on the field of battle,tingled as I thought of it."The man was seen," continued Lestrade. "A milk boy, passing on hisway to the dairy, happened to walk down the lane which leads from themews at the back of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder, which usually laythere, was raised against one of the windows of the second floor, whichwas wide open. After passing, he [48] looked back and saw a man descendthe ladder. He came down so quietly and openly that the boy imaginedhim to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. He took noparticular notice of him, beyond thinking in his own mind that it wasearly for him to be at work. He has an impression that the man was tall,had a reddish face, and was dressed in a long, brownish coat. He musthave stayed in the room some little time after the murder, for we foundblood-stained water in the basin, where he had washed his hands, andmarks on the sheets where he had deliberately wiped his knife."I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the murderer whichtallied so exactly with his own. There was, however, no trace ofexultation or satisfaction upon his face."Did you find nothing in the room which could furnish a clue to themurderer?" he asked. "Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber's purse in his pocket, but it seemsthat this was usual, as he did all the paying. There was eighty-odd poundsin it, but nothing had been taken. Whatever the motives of theseextraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not one of them. There were nopapers or memoranda in the murdered man's pocket, except a singletelegram, dated from Cleveland about a month ago, and containing thewords, 'J. H. is in Europe.' There was no name appended to this message.""And there was nothing else?" Holmes asked."Nothing of any importance. The man's novel, with which he had readhimself to sleep, was lying upon the bed, and his pipe was on a chairbeside him. There was a glass of water on the table, and on the windowsill a small chip ointment box containing a couple of pills."Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an exclamation of delight."The last link," he cried, exultantly. "My case is complete."The two detectives stared at him in amazement."I have now in my hands," my companion said, confidently, "all thethreads which have formed such a tangle. There are, of course, details tobe filled in, but I am as certain of all the main facts, from the time thatDrebber parted from Stangerson at the station, up to the discovery of thebody of the latter, as if I had seen them with my own eyes. I will give youa proof of my knowledge. Could you lay your hand upon those pills?""I have them," said Lestrade, producing a small white box; "I tookthem and the purse and the telegram, intending to have them put in aplace of safety at the police station. It was the merest chance my takingthese pills, for I am bound to say that I do not attach any importance tothem.""Give them here," said Holmes. "Now, Doctor," turning to me, "arethose ordinary pills?"They certainly were not. They were of a pearly gray colour, small,round, and almost transparent against the light. "From their lightness andtransparency, I should imagine that they are soluble in water," I remarked."Precisely so," answered Holmes. "Now would you mind going downand fetching that poor little devil of a terrier which has been bad so long,and which the landlady wanted you to put out of its pain yesterday?"I went downstairs and carried the dog upstairs in my arms. Its labouredbreathing and glazing eye showed that it was not far from its end. Indeed,its snow-white [49] muzzle proclaimed that it had already exceeded theusual term of canine existence. I placed it upon a cushion on the rug."I will now cut one of these pills in two," said Holmes, and drawing hispenknife he suited the action to the word. "One half we return into thebox for future purposes. The other half I will place in this wineglass, inwhich is a teaspoonful of water. You perceive that our friend, the doctor,is right, and that it readily dissolves.""This may be very interesting," said Lestrade, in the injured tone of onewho suspects that he is being laughed at; "I cannot see, however, what ithas to do with the death of Mr. Joseph Stangerson.""Patience, my friend, patience! You will find in time that it haseverything to do with it. I shall now add a little milk to make the mixturepalatable, and on presenting it to the dog we find that he laps it up readily enough."As he spoke he turned the contents of the wineglass into a saucer andplaced it in front of the terrier, who speedily licked it dry. SherlockHolmes's earnest demeanour had so far convinced us that we all sat insilence, watching the animal intently, and expecting some startling effect.None such appeared, however. The dog continued to lie stretched uponthe cushion, breathing in a laboured way, but apparently neither the betternor the worse for its draught.Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute followed minutewithout result, an expression of the utmost chagrin and disappointmentappeared upon his features. He gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers uponthe table, and showed every other symptom of acute impatience. So greatwas his emotion that I felt sincerely sorry for him, while the twodetectives smiled derisively, by no means displeased at this check whichhe had met."It can't be a coincidence," he cried, at last springing from his chair andpacing wildly up and down the room; "it is impossible that it should be amere coincidence. The very pills which I suspected in the case of Drebberare actually found after the death of Stangerson. And yet they are inert.What can it mean? Surely my whole chain of reasoning cannot have beenfalse. It is impossible! And yet this wretched dog is none the worse. Ah, Ihave it! I have it!" With a perfect shriek of delight he rushed to the box,cut the other pill in two, dissolved it, added milk, and presented it to theterrier. The unfortunate creature's tongue seemed hardly to have been moistened in it before it gave a convulsive shiver in every limb, and lay asrigid and lifeless as if it had been struck by lightning.Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and wiped the perspiration fromhis forehead. "I should have more faith," he said; "I ought to know by thistime that when a fact appears to be opposed to a long train of deductions,it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some other interpretation. Ofthe two pills in that box, one was of the most deadly poison, and the otherwas entirely harmless. I ought to have known that before ever I saw thebox at all."This last statement appeared to me to be so startling that I could hardlybelieve that he was in his sober senses. There was the dead dog, however,to prove that his conjecture had been correct. It seemed to me that themists in my own mind were gradually clearing away, and I began to havea dim, vague perception of the truth."All this seems strange to you," continued Holmes, "because you failedat the beginning of the inquiry to grasp the importance of the single realclue which was presented to you. I had the good fortune to seize uponthat, and everything [50] which has occurred since then has served toconfirm my original supposition, and, indeed, was the logical sequence ofit. Hence things which have perplexed you and made the case moreobscure have served to enlighten me and to strengthen my conclusions. Itis a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. The mostcommonplace crime is often the most mysterious, because it presents nonew or special features from which deductions may be drawn. Thismurder would have been infinitely more difficult to unravel had the bodyof the victim been simply found lying in the roadway without any of thoseoutré and sensational accompaniments which have rendered itremarkable. These strange details, far from making the case moredifficult, have really had the effect of making it less so."Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this address with considerableimpatience, could contain himself no longer. "Look here, Mr. SherlockHolmes," he said, "we are all ready to acknowledge that you are a smartman, and that you have your own methods of working. We wantsomething more than mere theory and preaching now, though. It is a caseof taking the man. I have made my case out, and it seems I was wrong.Young Charpentier could not have been engaged in this second affair.Lestrade went after his man, Stangerson, and it appears that he was wrongtoo. You have thrown out hints here, and hints there, and seem to knowmore than we do, but the time has come when we feel that we have a rightto ask you straight how much you do know of the business. Can you namethe man who did it?""I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir," remarked Lestrade."We have both tried, and we have both failed. You have remarked morethan once since I have been in the room that you had all the evidencewhich you require. Surely you will not withhold it any longer.""Any delay in arresting the assassin," I observed, "might give him timeto perpetrate some fresh atrocity."Thus pressed by us all, Holmes showed signs of irresolution. Hecontinued to walk up and down the room with his head sunk on his chest and his brows drawn down, as was his habit when lost in thought."There will be no more murders," he said at last, stopping abruptly andfacing us. "You can put that consideration out of the question. You haveasked me if I know the name of the assassin. I do. The mere knowing ofhis name is a small thing, however, compared with the power of layingour hands upon him. This I expect very shortly to do. I have good hopesof managing it through my own arrangements; but it is a thing whichneeds delicate handling, for we have a shrewd and desperate man to dealwith, who is supported, as I have had occasion to prove, by another whois as clever as himself. As long as this man has no idea that anyone canhave a clue there is some chance of securing him; but if he had theslightest suspicion, he would change his name, and vanish in an instantamong the four million inhabitants of this great city. Without meaning tohurt either of your feelings, I am bound to say that I consider these men tobe more than a match for the official force, and that is why I have notasked your assistance. If I fail, I shall, of course, incur all the blame dueto this omission; but that I am prepared for. At present I am ready topromise that the instant that I can communicate with you withoutendangering my own combinations, I shall do so."Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied by this assurance,or by the depreciating allusion to the detective police. The former hadflushed up to the roots of his flaxen hair, while the other's beady eyesglistened with curiosity and resentment. Neither of them had time tospeak, however, before there was a tap [51] at the door, and thespokesman of the street Arabs, young Wiggins, introduced hisinsignificant and unsavoury person."Please, sir," he said, touching his forelock, "I have the cab downstairs.""Good boy," said Holmes, blandly. "Why don't you introduce thispattern at Scotland Yard?" he continued, taking a pair of steel handcuffsfrom a drawer. "See how beautifully the spring works. They fasten in aninstant.""The old pattern is good enough," remarked Lestrade, "if we can onlyfind the man to put them on.""Very good, very good," said Holmes, smiling. "The cabman may aswell help me with my boxes. Just ask him to step up, Wiggins."I was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he wereabout to set out on a journey, since he had not said anything to me aboutit. There was a small portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out andbegan to strap. He was busily engaged at it when the cabman entered theroom."Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman," he said, kneeling overhis task, and never turning his head.The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air, and putdown his hands to assist. At that instant there was a sharp click, thejangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet again."Gentlemen," he cried, with flashing eyes, "let me introduce you to Mr.Jefferson Hope, the murderer of Enoch Drebber and of JosephStangerson."The whole thing occurred in a moment-so quickly that I had no time torealize it. I have a vivid recollection of that instant, of Holmes'striumphant expression and the ring of his voice, of the cabman's dazed,savage face, as he glared at the glittering handcuffs, which had appearedas if by magic upon his wrists. For a second or two we might have been agroup of statues. Then with an inarticulate roar of fury, the prisonerwrenched himself free from Holmes's grasp, and hurled himself throughthe window. Woodwork and glass gave way before him; but before he gotquite through, Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon him like somany staghounds. He was dragged back into the room, and thencommenced a terrific conflict. So powerful and so fierce was he that thefour of us were shaken off again and again. He appeared to have theconvulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit. His face and hands wereterribly mangled by his passage through the glass, but loss of blood hadno effect in diminishing his resistance. It was not until Lestradesucceeded in getting his hand inside his neckcloth and half-strangling himthat we made him realize that his struggles were of no avail; and eventhen we felt no security until we had pinioned his feet as well as hishands. That done, we rose to our feet breathless and panting."We have his cab," said Sherlock Holmes. "It will serve to take him toScotland Yard. And now, gentlemen," he continued, with a pleasantsmile, "we have reached the end of our little mystery. You are verywelcome to put any questions that you like to me now, and there is nodanger that I will refuse to answer them."