Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

THE SIGN OF FOUR: Chapter 4 THE STORY OF THE BALD-HEADED MAN

WE FOLLOWED the Indian down a sordid and common passage, ill-lit andworse furnished, until he came to a door upon the right, which he threwopen. A blaze of yellow light streamed out upon us, and in the centre ofthe glare there stood a small man with a very high head, a bristle of redhair all round the fringe of it, and a bald, shining scalp which shot outfrom among it like a mountain-peak from fir-trees. He writhed his handstogether as he stood, and his features were in a perpetual jerk-nowsmiling, now scowling, but never for an instant in repose. Nature hadgiven him a pendulous lip, and a too visible line of yellow and irregularteeth, which he strove feebly to conceal by constantly passing his handover the lower part of his face. In spite of his obtrusive baldness he gavethe impression of youth. In point of fact, he had just turned his thirtiethyear."Your servant, Miss Morstan," he kept repeating in a thin, high voice."Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step into my little sanctum. A small place,miss, but furnished to my own liking. An oasis of art in the howlingdesert of South London."We were all astonished by the appearance of the apartment into whichhe invited us. In that sorry house it looked as out of place as a diamond ofthe first water in a setting of brass. The richest and glossiest of curtainsand tapestries draped the walls, looped back here and there to exposesome richly mounted painting or Oriental vase. The carpet was of amberand black, so soft and so thick that the foot sank pleasantly into it, as intoa bed of moss. Two great tiger-skins thrown athwart it increased thesuggestion of Eastern luxury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon amat in the corner. A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove was hung froman almost invisible golden wire in the centre of the room. As it burned itfilled the air with a subtle and aromatic odour."Mr. Thaddeus Sholto," said the little man, still jerking and smiling."That is my name. You are Miss Morstan, of course. And thesegentlemen- -""This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this Dr. Watson.""A doctor, eh?" cried he, much excited. "Have you your stethoscope?Might I ask you-would you have the kindness? I have grave doubts as tomy mitral valve, if you would be so very good. The aortic I may relyupon, but I should value your opinion upon the mitral."I listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to find anythingamiss, save, indeed, that he was in an ecstasy of fear, for he shivered fromhead to foot. "It appears to be normal," I said. "You have no cause for uneasiness.""You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan," he remarked airily. "I ama great [101] sufferer, and I have long had suspicions as to that valve. I amdelighted to hear that they are unwarranted. Had your father, MissMorstan, refrained from throwing a strain upon his heart, he might havebeen alive now."I could have struck the man across the face, so hot was I at this callousand offhand reference to so delicate a matter. Miss Morstan sat down, andher face grew white to the lips."I knew in my heart that he was dead," said she."I can give you every information," said he; "and, what is more, I cando you justice; and I will, too, whatever Brother Bartholomew may say. Iam so glad to have your friends here not only as an escort to you but alsoas witnesses to what I am about to do and say. The three of us can show abold front to Brother Bartholomew. But let us have no outsiders-nopolice or officials. We can settle everything satisfactorily amongourselves without any interference. Nothing would annoy BrotherBartholomew more than any publicity."He sat down upon a low settee and blinked at us inquiringly with hisweak, watery blue eyes."For my part," said Holmes, "whatever you may choose to say will gono further."I nodded to show my agreement."That is well! That is well!" said he. "May I offer you a glass ofChianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines. Shall I opena flask? No? Well, then, I trust that you have no objection to tobaccosmoke, to the balsamic odour of the Eastern tobacco. I am a little nervous,and I find my hookah an invaluable sedative."He applied a taper to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled merrilythrough the rose-water. We sat all three in a semicircle, with our headsadvanced and our chins upon our hands, while the strange, jerky littlefellow, with his high, shining head, puffed uneasily in the centre."When I first determined to make this communication to you," said he,"I might have given you my address; but I feared that you might disregardmy request and bring unpleasant people with you. I took the liberty,therefore, of making an appointment in such a way that my man Williamsmight be able to see you first. I have complete confidence in hisdiscretion, and he had orders, if he were dissatisfied, to proceed no furtherin the matter. You will excuse these precautions, but I am a man ofsomewhat retiring, and I might even say refined, tastes, and there isnothing more unaesthetic than a policeman. I have a natural shrinkingfrom all forms of rough materialism. I seldom come in contact with therough crowd. I live, as you see, with some little atmosphere of elegancearound me. I may call myself a patron of the arts. It is my weakness. Thelandscape is a genuine Corot, and though a connoisseur might perhapsthrow a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there cannot be the least questionabout the Bouguereau. I am partial to the modern French school.""You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto," said Miss Morstan, "but I am here atyour request to learn something which you desire to tell me. It is very late, and I should desire the interview to be as short as possible.""At the best it must take some time," he answered; "for we shallcertainly have to go to Norwood and see Brother Bartholomew. We shallall go and try if we can get the better of Brother Bartholomew. He is veryangry with me for taking the course which has seemed right to me. I hadquite high words with him last night. You cannot imagine what a terriblefellow he is when he is angry."[102] "If we are to go to Norwood, it would perhaps be as well to start atonce," I ventured to remark.He laughed until his ears were quite red."That would hardly do," he cried. "I don't know what he would say if Ibrought you in that sudden way. No, I must prepare you by showing youhow we all stand to each other. In the first place, I must tell you that thereare several points in the story of which I am myself ignorant. I can onlylay the facts before you as far as I know them myself."My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John Sholto, once ofthe Indian Army. He retired some eleven years ago and came to live atPondicherry Lodge in Upper Norwood. He had prospered in India andbrought back with him a considerable sum of money, a large collection ofvaluable curiosities, and a staff of native servants. With these advantageshe bought himself a house, and lived in great luxury. My twin-brotherBartholomew and I were the only children."I very well remember the sensation which was caused by thedisappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details in the papers, andknowing that he had been a friend of our father's we discussed the casefreely in his presence. He used to join in our speculations as to what couldhave happened. Never for an instant did we suspect that he had the wholesecret hidden in his own breast, that of all men he alone knew the fate ofArthur Morstan."We did know, however, that some mystery, some positive danger,overhung our father. He was very fearful of going out alone, and healways employed two prize-fighters to act as porters at PondicherryLodge. Williams, who drove you to-night, was one of them. He was oncelightweight champion of England. Our father would never tell us what itwas he feared, but he had a most marked aversion to men with woodenlegs. On one occasion he actually fired his revolver at a wooden-leggedman, who proved to be a harmless tradesman canvassing for orders. Wehad to pay a large sum to hush the matter up. My brother and I used tothink this a mere whim of my father's, but events have since led us tochange our opinion."Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which was a greatshock to him. He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table when he opened it,and from that day he sickened to his death. What was in the letter wecould never discover, but I could see as he held it that it was short andwritten in a scrawling hand. He had suffered for years from an enlargedspleen, but he now became rapidly worse, and towards the end of Aprilwe were informed that he was beyond all hope, and that he wished tomake a last communication to us."When we entered his room he was propped up with pillows and breathing heavily. He besought us to lock the door and to come uponeither side of the bed. Then grasping our hands he made a remarkablestatement to us in a voice which was broken as much by emotion as bypain. I shall try and give it to you in his own very words."'I have only one thing,' he said, 'which weighs upon my mind at thissupreme moment. It is my treatment of poor Morstan's orphan. Thecursed greed which has been my besetting sin through life has withheldfrom her the treasure, half at least of which should have been hers. Andyet I have made no use of it myself, so blind and foolish a thing isavarice. The mere feeling of possession has been so dear to me that Icould not bear to share it with another. See that chaplet tipped with pearlsbeside the quinine-bottle. Even that I could not bear to part with, [103]although I had got it out with the design of sending it to her. You, mysons, will give her a fair share of the Agra treasure. But send hernothing-not even the chaplet-until I am gone. After all, men have been asbad as this and have recovered."'I will tell you how Morstan died,' he continued. 'He had suffered foryears from a weak heart, but he concealed it from every one. I alone knewit. When in India, he and I, through a remarkable chain of circumstances,came into possession of a considerable treasure. I brought it over toEngland, and on the night of Morstan's arrival he came straight over hereto claim his share. He walked over from the station and was admitted bymy faithful old Lal Chowdar, who is now dead. Morstan and I had a difference of opinion as to the division of the treasure, and we came toheated words. Morstan had sprung out of his chair in a paroxysm ofanger, when he suddenly pressed his hand to his side, his face turned adusky hue, and he fell backward, cutting his head against the corner of thetreasure-chest. When I stooped over him I found, to my horror, that hewas dead."'For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I should do. Myfirst impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but I could not butrecognize that there was every chance that I would be accused of hismurder. His death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in his head,would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry could not be madewithout bringing out some facts about the treasure, which I wasparticularly anxious to keep secret. He had told me that no soul uponearth knew where he had gone. There seemed to be no necessity why anysoul ever should know."'I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, I saw myservant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in and bolted the doorbehind him. "Do not fear, sahib," he said; "no one need know that youhave killed him. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?" "I did notkill him," said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head and smiled. "I heard it all,sahib," said he; "I heard you quarrel, and I heard the blow. But my lipsare sealed. All are asleep in the house. Let us put him away together."That was enough to decide me. If my own servant could not believe myinnocence, how could I hope to make it good before twelve foolishtradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and I disposed of the body thatnight, and within a few days the London papers were full of themysterious disappearance of Captain Morstan. You will see from what Isay that I can hardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in the fact thatwe concealed not only the body but also the treasure and that I have clungto Morstan's share as well as to my own. I wish you, therefore, to makerestitution. Put your ears down to my mouth. The treasure is hidden in- -'"At this instant a horrible change came over his expression; his eyesstared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled in a voice which I can neverforget, 'Keep him out! For Christ's sake keep him out!' We both staredround at the window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed. A facewas looking in at us out of the darkness. We could see the whitening ofthe nose where it was pressed against the glass. It was a bearded, hairyface, with wild cruel eyes and an expression of concentrated malevolence.My brother and I rushed towards the window, but the man was gone.When we returned to my father his head had dropped and his pulse hadceased to beat."We searched the garden that night but found no sign of the intrudersave that just under the window a single footmark was visible in theflower-bed. But for that [104] one trace, we might have thought that ourimaginations had conjured up that wild, fierce face. We soon, however,had another and a more striking proof that there were secret agencies atwork all round us. The window of my father's room was found open inthe morning, his cupboards and boxes had been rifled, and upon his chestwas fixed a torn piece of paper with the words 'The sign of the four' scrawled across it. What the phrase meant or who our secret visitor mayhave been, we never knew. As far as we can judge, none of my father'sproperty had been actually stolen, though everything had been turned out.My brother and I naturally associated this peculiar incident with the fearwhich haunted my father during his life, but it is still a complete mysteryto us."The little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed thoughtfully fora few moments. We had all sat absorbed, listening to his extraordinarynarrative. At the short account of her father's death Miss Morstan hadturned deadly white, and for a moment I feared that she was about tofaint. She rallied, however, on drinking a glass of water which I quietlypoured out for her from a Venetian carafe upon the side-table. SherlockHolmes leaned back in his chair with an abstracted expression and the lidsdrawn low over his glittering eyes. As I glanced at him I could not butthink how on that very day he had complained bitterly of thecommonplaceness of life. Here at least was a problem which would taxhis sagacity to the utmost. Mr. Thaddeus Sholto looked from one to theother of us with an obvious pride at the effect which his story hadproduced and then continued between the puffs of his overgrown pipe."My brother and I," said he, "were, as you may imagine, much excitedas to the treasure which my father had spoken of. For weeks and formonths we dug and delved in every part of the garden withoutdiscovering its whereabouts. It was maddening to think that the hidingplace was on his very lips at the moment that he died. We could judge thesplendour of the missing riches by the chaplet which he had taken out.Over this chaplet my brother Bartholomew and I had some littlediscussion. The pearls were evidently of great value, and he was averse topart with them, for, between friends, my brother was himself a littleinclined to my father's fault. He thought, too, that if we parted with thechaplet it might give rise to gossip and finally bring us into trouble. It wasall that I could do to persuade him to let me find out Miss Morstan'saddress and send her a detached pearl at fixed intervals so that at least shemight never feel destitute.""It was a kindly thought," said our companion earnestly; "it wasextremely good of you."The little man waved his hand deprecatingly."We were your trustees," he said; "that was the view which I took of it,though Brother Bartholomew could not altogether see it in that light. Wehad plenty of money ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it would havebeen such bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvy a fashion.'Le mauvais goût mène au crime.' The French have a very neat way ofputting these things. Our difference of opinion on this subject went so farthat I thought it best to set up rooms for myself; so I left PondicherryLodge, taking the old khitmutgar and Williams with me. Yesterday,however, I learned that an event of extreme importance has occurred. Thetreasure has been discovered. I instantly communicated with MissMorstan, and it only remains for us to drive out to Norwood and demandour share. I explained my views last night to Brother Bartholomew, so weshall be expected, if not welcome, visitors." [105] Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased and sat twitching on his luxurioussettee. We all remained silent, with our thoughts upon the newdevelopment which the mysterious business had taken. Holmes was thefirst to spring to his feet."You have done well, sir, from first to last," said he. "It is possible thatwe may be able to make you some small return by throwing some lightupon that which is still dark to you. But, as Miss Morstan remarked justnow, it is late, and we had best put the matter through without delay."Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of hishookah and produced from behind a curtain a very long befrogged topcoatwith astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned tightly up in spite of theextreme closeness of the night and finished his attire by putting on arabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which covered the ears, so that nopart of him was visible save his mobile and peaky face."My health is somewhat fragile," he remarked as he led the way downthe passage. "I am compelled to be a valetudinarian."Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was evidentlyprearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid pace. ThaddeusSholto talked incessantly in a voice which rose high above the rattle of thewheels."Bartholomew is a clever fellow," said he. "How do you think he foundout where the treasure was? He had come to the conclusion that it wassomewhere indoors, so he worked out all the cubic space of the house andmade measurements everywhere so that not one inch should beunaccounted for. Among other things, he found that the height of thebuilding was seventy-four feet, but on adding together the heights of allthe separate rooms and making every allowance for the space between,which he ascertained by borings, he could not bring the total to more thanseventy feet. There were four feet unaccounted for. These could only beat the top of the building. He knocked a hole, therefore, in the lath andplaster ceiling of the highest room, and there, sure enough, he came uponanother little garret above it, which had been sealed up and was known tono one. In the centre stood the treasure-chest resting upon two rafters. Helowered it through the hole, and there it lies. He computes the value of thejewels at not less than half a million sterling."At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one another openeyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her rights, would change from aneedy governess to the richest heiress in England. Surely it was the placeof a loyal friend to rejoice at such news, yet I am ashamed to say thatselfishness took me by the soul and that my heart turned as heavy as leadwithin me. I stammered out some few halting words of congratulation andthen sat downcast, with my head drooped, deaf to the babble of our newacquaintance. He was clearly a confirmed hypochondriac, and I wasdreamily conscious that he was pouring forth interminable trains ofsymptoms, and imploring information as to the composition and action ofinnumerable quack nostrums, some of which he bore about in a leathercase in his pocket. I trust that he may not remember any of the answerswhich I gave him that night. Holmes declares that he overheard mecaution him against the great danger of taking more than two drops of castor-oil, while I recommended strychnine in large doses as a sedative.However that may be, I was certainly relieved when our cab pulled upwith a jerk and the coachman sprang down to open the door."This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge," said Mr. Thaddeus Sholtoas he handed her out.