Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

THE SIGN OF FOUR: Chapter 7 THE EPISODE OF THE BARREL

THE police had brought a cab with them, and in this I escorted MissMorstan back to her home. After the angelic fashion of women, she hadborne trouble with a calm face as long as there was someone weaker thanherself to support, and I had found her bright and placid by the side of thefrightened housekeeper. In the cab, however, she first turned faint andthen burst into a passion of weeping-so sorely had she been tried by theadventures of the night. She has told me since that [116] she thought mecold and distant upon that journey. She little guessed the struggle withinmy breast, or the effort of self-restraint which held me back. Mysympathies and my love went out to her, even as my hand had in thegarden. I felt that years of the conventionalities of life could not teach meto know her sweet, brave nature as had this one day of strangeexperiences. Yet there were two thoughts which sealed the words ofaffection upon my lips. She was weak and helpless, shaken in mind andnerve. It was to take her at a disadvantage to obtrude love upon her atsuch a time. Worse still, she was rich. If Holmes's researches weresuccessful, she would be an heiress. Was it fair, was it honourable, that ahalf-pay surgeon should take such advantage of an intimacy which chancehad brought about? Might she not look upon me as a mere vulgar fortuneseeker? I could not bear to risk that such a thought should cross her mind.This Agra treasure intervened like an impassable barrier between us.It was nearly two o'clock when we reached Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. Theservants had retired hours ago, but Mrs. Forrester had been so interestedby the strange message which Miss Morstan had received that she had satup in the hope of her return. She opened the door herself, a middle-aged,graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how tenderly her arm stoleround the other's waist and how motherly was the voice in which shegreeted her. She was clearly no mere paid dependant but an honouredfriend. I was introduced, and Mrs. Forrester earnestly begged me to stepin and tell her our adventures. I explained, however, the importance of myerrand and promised faithfully to call and report any progress which wemight make with the case. As we drove away I stole a glance back, and Istill seem to see that little group on the step-the two graceful, clingingfigures, the half-opened door, the hall-light shining through stained glass,the barometer, and the bright stair-rods. It was soothing to catch even thatpassing glimpse of a tranquil English home in the midst of the wild, darkbusiness which had absorbed us.And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker itgrew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of events as I rattled on through the silent, gas-lit streets. There was the original problem: thatat least was pretty clear now. The death of Captain Morstan, the sendingof the pearls, the advertisement, the letter-we had had light upon all thoseevents. They had only led us, however, to a deeper and far more tragicmystery. The Indian treasure, the curious plan found among Morstan'sbaggage, the strange scene at Major Sholto's death, the rediscovery of thetreasure immediately followed by the murder of the discoverer, the verysingular accompaniments to the crime, the footsteps, the remarkableweapons, the words upon the card, corresponding with those uponCaptain Morstan's chart-here was indeed a labyrinth in which a man lesssingularly endowed than my fellow-lodger might well despair of everfinding the clue.Pinchin Lane was a row of shabby, two-storied brick houses in thelower quarter of Lambeth. I had to knock for some time at No. 3 before Icould make any impression. At last, however, there was the glint of acandle behind the blind, and a face looked out at the upper window."Go on, you drunken vagabond," said the face. "If you kick up anymore row, I'll open the kennels and let out forty-three dogs upon you.""If you'll let one out, it's just what I have come for," said I."Go on!" yelled the voice. "So help me gracious, I have a wiper in thisbag, and I'll drop it on your 'ead if you don't hook it!""But I want a dog," I cried.[117] "I won't be argued with!" shouted Mr. Sherman. "Now standclear; for when I say 'three,' down goes the wiper.""Mr. Sherlock Holmes- -" I began; but the words had a most magicaleffect, for the window instantly slammed down, and within a minute thedoor was unbarred and open. Mr. Sherman was a lanky, lean old man,with stooping shoulders, a stringy neck, and blue-tinted glasses."A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome," said he. "Step in, sir.Keep clear of the badger, for he bites. Ah, naughty, naughty; would youtake a nip at the gentleman?" This to a stoat which thrust its wicked headand red eyes between the bars of its cage. "Don't mind that, sir; it's only aslowworm. It hain't got no fangs, so I gives it the run o' the room, for itkeeps the beetles down. You must not mind my bein' just a little short wi'you at first, for I'm guyed at by the children, and there's many a one justcomes down this lane to knock me up. What was it that Mr. SherlockHolmes wanted, sir?""He wanted a dog of yours.""Ah! that would be Toby.""Yes, Toby was the name.""Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here."He moved slowly forward with his candle among the queer animalfamily which he had gathered round him. In the uncertain, shadowy lightI could see dimly that there were glancing, glimmering eyes peepingdown at us from every cranny and corner. Even the rafters above ourheads were lined by solemn fowls, who lazily shifted their weight fromone leg to the other as our voices disturbed their slumbers.Toby proved to be an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, half spanieland half lurcher, brown and white in colour, with a very clumsy, waddlinggait. It accepted, after some hesitation, a lump of sugar which the oldnaturalist handed to me, and, having thus sealed an alliance, it followedme to the cab and made no difficulties about accompanying me. It had just struck three on the Palace clock when I found myself back once moreat Pondicherry Lodge. The ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I found, beenarrested as an accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had been marchedoff to the station. Two constables guarded the narrow gate, but theyallowed me to pass with the dog on my mentioning the detective's name.Holmes was standing on the doorstep with his hands in his pockets,smoking his pipe."Ah, you have him there!" said he. "Good dog, then! Athelney Joneshas gone. We have had an immense display of energy since you left. Hehas arrested not only friend Thaddeus but the gatekeeper, thehousekeeper, and the Indian servant. We have the place to ourselves butfor a sergeant upstairs. Leave the dog here and come up."We tied Toby to the hall table and reascended the stairs. The room wasas we had left it, save that a sheet had been draped over the central figure.A weary-looking police-sergeant reclined in the corner."Lend me your bull's eye, Sergeant," said my companion. "Now tiethis bit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in front of me. Thank you.Now I must kick off my boots and stockings. Just you carry them downwith you, Watson. I am going to do a little climbing. And dip myhandkerchief into the creosote. That will do. Now come up into the garretwith me for a moment."We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his light once moreupon the footsteps in the dust.[118] "I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks," he said. "Doyou observe anything noteworthy about them?""They belong," I said, "to a child or a small woman.""Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing else?""They appear to be much as other footmarks.""Not at all. Look here! This is the print of a right foot in the dust. NowI make one with my naked foot beside it. What is the chief difference?""Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has each toedistinctly divided.""Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now, would you kindlystep over to that flap-window and smell the edge of the woodwork? I shallstay over here, as I have this handkerchief in my hand."I did as he directed and was instantly conscious of a strong tarry smell."That is where he put his foot in getting out. If you can trace him, Ishould think that Toby will have no difficulty. Now run downstairs, loosethe dog, and look out for Blondin."By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was on theroof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling veryslowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind a stack of chimneys, buthe presently reappeared and then vanished once more upon the oppositeside. When I made my way round there I found him seated at one of thecorner eaves."That you, Watson?" he cried."Yes.""This is the place. What is that black thing down there?""A water-barrel." "Top on it?""Yes.""No sign of a ladder?""No.""Confound the fellow! It's a most breakneck place. I ought to be able tocome down where he could climb up. The water-pipe feels pretty firm.Here goes, anyhow."There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come steadilydown the side of the wall. Then with a light spring he came on to thebarrel, and from there to the earth."It was easy to follow him," he said, drawing on his stockings andboots. "Tiles were loosened the whole way along, and in his hurry he haddropped this. It confirms my diagnosis, as you doctors express it."The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch wovenout of coloured grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung round it. Inshape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case. Inside were half a dozenspines of dark wood, sharp at one end and rounded at the other, like thatwhich had struck Bartholomew Sholto."They are hellish things," said he. "Look out that you don't prickyourself. I'm delighted to have them, for the chances are that they are allhe has. There is the less fear of you or me finding one in our skin beforelong. I would sooner face a Martini bullet, myself. Are you game for a sixmile trudge, Watson?""Certainly," I answered."Your leg will stand it?"[119] "Oh, yes.""Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, smell it!" Hepushed the creosote handkerchief under the dog's nose, while the creaturestood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a most comical cock to itshead, like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of a famous vintage. Holmesthen threw the handkerchief to a distance, fastened a stout cord to themongrel's collar, and led him to the foot of the water-barrel. The creatureinstantly broke into a succession of high, tremulous yelps and, with hisnose on the ground and his tail in the air, pattered off upon the trail at apace which strained his leash and kept us at the top of our speed.The east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see somedistance in the cold gray light. The square, massive house, with its black,empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up, sad and forlorn, behindus. Our course led right across the grounds, in and out among the trenchesand pits with which they were scarred and intersected. The whole place,with its scattered dirt-heaps and ill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, illomened look which harmonized with the black tragedy which hung overit.On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining eagerly,underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened by ayoung beech. Where the two walls joined, several bricks had beenloosened, and the crevices left were worn down and rounded upon thelower side, as though they had frequently been used as a ladder. Holmesclambered up, and taking the dog from me he dropped it over upon theother side."There's the print of Wooden-leg's hand," he remarked as I mountedup beside him. "You see the slight smudge of blood upon the whiteplaster. What a lucky thing it is that we have had no very heavy rain sinceyesterday! The scent will lie upon the road in spite of their eight-andtwenty hours' start."I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected upon the greattraffic which had passed along the London road in the interval. My fearswere soon appeased, however. Toby never hesitated or swerved butwaddled on in his peculiar rolling fashion. Clearly the pungent smell ofthe creosote rose high above all other contending scents."Do not imagine," said Holmes, "that I depend for my success in this case upon the mere chance of one of these fellows having put his foot inthe chemical. I have knowledge now which would enable me to tracethem in many different ways. This, however, is the readiest, and, sincefortune has put it into our hands, I should be culpable if I neglected it. Ithas, however, prevented the case from becoming the pretty littleintellectual problem which it at one time promised to be. There mighthave been some credit to be gained out of it but for this too palpable clue.""There is credit, and to spare," said I. "I assure you, Holmes, that Imarvel at the means by which you obtain your results in this case evenmore than I did in the Jefferson Hope murder. The thing seems to me tobe deeper and more inexplicable. How, for example, could you describewith such confidence the wooden-legged man?""Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I don't wish to betheatrical. It is all patent and above-board. Two officers who are incommand of a convict-guard learn an important secret as to buriedtreasure. A map is drawn for them by an Englishman named JonathanSmall. You remember that we saw the name upon the [120] chart inCaptain Morstan's possession. He had signed it in behalf of himself andhis associates-the sign of the four, as he somewhat dramatically called it.Aided by this chart, the officers-or one of them-gets the treasure andbrings it to England, leaving, we will suppose, some condition underwhich he received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why did not Jonathan Smallget the treasure himself? The answer is obvious. The chart is dated at atime when Morstan was brought into close association with convicts.Jonathan Small did not get the treasure because he and his associates werethemselves convicts and could not get away.""But this is mere speculation," said I."It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis which covers the facts.Let us see how it fits in with the sequel. Major Sholto remains at peacefor some years, happy in the possession of his treasure. Then he receives aletter from India which gives him a great fright. What was that?""A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had been set free.""Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he would have knownwhat their term of imprisonment was. It would not have been a surprise tohim. What does he do then? He guards himself against a wooden-leggedman-a white man, mark you, for he mistakes a white tradesman for himand actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only one white man's name is onthe chart. The others are Hindoos or Mohammedans. There is no otherwhite man. Therefore we may say with confidence that the woodenlegged man is identical with Jonathan Small. Does the reasoning strikeyou as being faulty?""No: it is clear and concise.""Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan Small. Let uslook at it from his point of view. He comes to England with the doubleidea of regaining what he would consider to be his rights and of havinghis revenge upon the man who had wronged him. He found out whereSholto lived, and very possibly he established communications withsomeone inside the house. There is this butler, Lal Rao, whom we havenot seen. Mrs. Bernstone gives him far from a good character. Small could not find out, however, where the treasure was hid, for no one everknew save the major and one faithful servant who had died. SuddenlySmall learns that the major is on his deathbed. In a frenzy lest the secretof the treasure die with him, he runs the gauntlet of the guards, makes hisway to the dying man's window, and is only deterred from entering by thepresence of his two sons. Mad with hate, however, against the dead man,he enters the room that night, searches his private papers in the hope ofdiscovering some memorandum relating to the treasure, and finally leavesa memento of his visit in the short inscription upon the card. He haddoubtless planned beforehand that, should he slay the major, he wouldleave some such record upon the body as a sign that it was not a commonmurder but, from the point of view of the four associates, something inthe nature of an act of justice. Whimsical and bizarre conceits of this kindare common enough in the annals of crime and usually afford valuableindications as to the criminal. Do you follow all this?""Very clearly.""Now what could Jonathan small do? He could only continue to keep asecret watch upon the efforts made to find the treasure. Possibly he leavesEngland and only comes back at intervals. Then comes the discovery ofthe garret, and he is instantly informed of it. We again trace the presenceof some confederate in the household. Jonathan, with his wooden leg, isutterly unable to reach the lofty [121] room of Bartholomew Sholto. Hetakes with him, however, a rather curious associate, who gets over thisdifficulty but dips his naked foot into creosote, whence come Toby, and asix-mile limp for a half-pay officer with a damaged tendo Achillis.""But it was the associate and not Jonathan who committed the crime.""Quite so. And rather to Jonathan's disgust, to judge by the way hestamped about when he got into the room. He bore no grudge againstBartholomew Sholto and would have preferred if he could have beensimply bound and gagged. He did not wish to put his head in a halter.There was no help for it, however: the savage instincts of his companionhad broken out, and the poison had done its work: so Jonathan Small lefthis record, lowered the treasure-box to the ground, and followed ithimself. That was the train of events as far as I can decipher them. Ofcourse, as to his personal appearance, he must be middle-aged and mustbe sunburned after serving his time in such an oven as the Andamans. Hisheight is readily calculated from the length of his stride, and we know thathe was bearded. His hairiness was the one point which impressed itselfupon Thaddeus Sholto when he saw him at the window. I don't know thatthere is anything else.""The associate?""Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. But you will know all aboutit soon enough. How sweet the morning air is! See how that one littlecloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo. Now the redrim of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank. It shines on agood many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on a stranger errand thanyou and I. How small we feel with our petty ambitions and strivings in thepresence of the great elemental forces of Nature! Are you well up in yourJean Paul?" "Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle.""That was like following the brook to the parent lake. He makes onecurious but profound remark. It is that the chief proof of man's realgreatness lies in his perception of his own smallness. It argues, you see, apower of comparison and of appreciation which is in itself a proof ofnobility. There is much food for thought in Richter. You have not a pistol,have you?""I have my stick.""It is just possible that we may need something of the sort if we get totheir lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you, but if the other turns nasty I shallshoot him dead."He took out his revolver as he spoke, and, having loaded two of thechambers, he put it back into the right-hand pocket of his jacket.We had during this time been following the guidance of Toby down thehalf-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis. Now, however,we were beginning to come among continuous streets, where labourersand dockmen were already astir, and slatternly women were taking downshutters and brushing door-steps. At the square-topped corner publichouses business was just beginning, and rough-looking men wereemerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards after their morningwet. Strange dogs sauntered up and stared wonderingly at us as wepassed, but our inimitable Toby looked neither to the right nor to the leftbut trotted onward with his nose to the ground and an occasional eagerwhine which spoke of a hot scent.We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and now foundourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away through the side streetsto the east of the [122] Oval. The men whom we pursued seemed to have taken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably of escapingobservation. They had never kept to the main road if a parallel side streetwould serve their turn. At the foot of Kennington Lane they had edgedaway to the left through Bond Street and Miles Street. Where the latterstreet turns into Knight's Place, Toby ceased to advance but began to runbackward and forward with one ear cocked and the other drooping, thevery picture of canine indecision. Then he waddled round in circles,looking up to us from time to time, as if to ask for sympathy in hisembarrassment."What the deuce is the matter with the dog?" growled Holmes. "Theysurely would not take a cab or go off in a balloon.""Perhaps they stood here for some time," I suggested."Ah! it's all right. He's off again," said my companion in a tone ofrelief.He was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenly made uphis mind and darted away with an energy and determination such as hehad not yet shown. The scent appeared to be much hotter than before, forhe had not even to put his nose on the ground but tugged at his leash andtried to break into a run. I could see by the gleam in Holmes's eyes that hethought we were nearing the end of our journey.Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderick andNelson's large timber-yard just past the White Eagle tavern. Here the dog,frantic with excitement, turned down through the side gate into theenclosure, where the sawyers were already at work. On the dog racedthrough sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a passage, betweentwo wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant yelp, sprang upon a largebarrel which still stood upon the hand-trolley on which it had beenbrought. With lolling tongue and blinking eyes Toby stood upon the cask,looking from one to the other of us for some sign of appreciation. Thestaves of the barrel and the wheels of the trolley were smeared with a darkliquid, and the whole air was heavy with the smell of creosote.Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other and then burstsimultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.