Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Return of Sherlock Holmes THE GOLDEN PINCE-NEZ

WHEN I look at the three massive manuscript volumes which contain ourwork for the year 1894, I confess that it is very difficult for me, out ofsuch a wealth of material, to select the cases which are most interesting inthemselves, and at the same time most conducive to a display of thosepeculiar powers for which my friend was famous. As I turn over thepages, I see my notes upon the repulsive story of the red leech and theterrible death of Crosby, the banker. Here also I find an account of theAddleton tragedy, and the singular contents of the ancient British barrow.The famous Smith-Mortimer succession case comes also within thisperiod, and so does the tracking and arrest of Huret, the Boulevardassassin-an exploit which won for Holmes an autograph letter of thanksfrom the French President and the Order of the Legion of Honour. Eachof these would furnish a narrative, but on the whole I am of opinion thatnone of them unites so many singular points of interest as the episode ofYoxley Old Place, which includes not only the lamentable death of youngWilloughby Smith, but also those subsequent developments which threwso curious a light upon the causes of the crime.It was a wild, tempestuous night, towards the close of November.Holmes and I sat together in silence all the evening, he engaged with apowerful lens deciphering the remains of the original inscription upon apalimpsest, I deep in a recent treatise upon surgery. Outside the wind howled down Baker Street, while the rain beat fiercely against thewindows. It was strange there, in the very depths of the town, with tenmiles of man's handiwork on every side of us, to feel the iron grip ofNature, and to be conscious that to the huge elemental forces all Londonwas no more than the molehills that dot the fields. I walked to thewindow, and looked out on the deserted street. The occasional lampsgleamed on the expanse [608] of muddy road and shining pavement. Asingle cab was splashing its way from the Oxford Street end."Well, Watson, it's as well we have not to turn out to-night," saidHolmes, laying aside his lens and rolling up the palimpsest. "I've doneenough for one sitting. It is trying work for the eyes. So far as I can makeout, it is nothing more exciting than an Abbey's accounts dating from thesecond half of the fifteenth century. Halloa! halloa! halloa! What's this?"Amid the droning of the wind there had come the stamping of a horse'shoofs, and the long grind of a wheel as it rasped against the curb. The cabwhich I had seen had pulled up at our 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 theweather. Wait a bit, though! There's the cab off again! There's hope yet.He'd have kept it if he had wanted us to come. Run down, my dearfellow, and open the door, for all virtuous folk have been long in bed."When the light of the hall lamp fell upon our midnight visitor, I had no difficulty in recognizing him. It was young Stanley Hopkins, a promisingdetective, in whose career Holmes had several times shown a verypractical interest."Is he in?" he asked, eagerly."Come up, my dear sir," said Holmes's voice from above. "I hope youhave no designs upon us such a night as this."The detective mounted the stairs, and our lamp gleamed upon hisshining waterproof. I helped him out of it, while Holmes knocked a blazeout of the logs in the grate."Now, my dear Hopkins, draw up and warm your toes," said he."Here's a cigar, and the doctor has a prescription containing hot water anda lemon, which is good medicine on a night like this. It must besomething important which has brought you out in such a gale.""It is indeed, Mr. Holmes. I've had a bustling afternoon, I promise you.Did you see anything of the Yoxley case in the latest editions?""I've seen nothing later than the fifteenth century to-day.""Well, it was only a paragraph, and all wrong at that, so you have notmissed anything. I haven't let the grass grow under my feet. It's down inKent, seven miles from Chatham and three from the railway line. I waswired for at 3:15, reached Yoxley Old Place at 5, conducted myinvestigation, was back at Charing Cross by the last train, and straight toyou by cab.""Which means, I suppose, that you are not quite clear about your case?""It means that I can make neither head nor tail of it. So far as I can see,it is just as tangled a business as ever I handled, and yet at first it seemedso simple that one couldn't go wrong. There's no motive, Mr. Holmes.That's what bothers me-I can't put my hand on a motive. Here's a mandead- there's no denying that-but, so far as I can see, no reason on earthwhy anyone should wish him harm."Holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair."Let us hear about it," said he."I've got my facts pretty clear," said Stanley Hopkins. "All I want nowis to know what they all mean. The story, so far as I can make it out, islike this. Some years ago this country house, Yoxley Old Place, was takenby an elderly man, who gave the name of Professor Coram. He was aninvalid, keeping his bed half the [609] time, and the other half hobblinground the house with a stick or being pushed about the grounds by thegardener 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 verylearned man. His household used to consist of an elderly housekeeper,Mrs. Marker, and of a maid, Susan Tarlton. These have both been withhim since his arrival, and they seem to be women of excellent character.The professor is writing a learned book, and he found it necessary, abouta year ago, to engage a secretary. The first two that he tried were notsuccesses, but the third, Mr. Willoughby Smith, a very young manstraight from the university, seems to have been just what his employerwanted. His work consisted in writing all the morning to the professor'sdictation, and he usually spent the evening in hunting up references andpassages which bore upon the next day's work. This Willoughby Smith has nothing against him, either as a boy at Uppingham or as a young manat Cambridge. I have seen his testimonials, and from the first he was adecent, quiet, hard-working fellow, with no weak spot in him at all. Andyet this is the lad who has met his death this morning in the professor'sstudy under circumstances which can point only to murder."The wind howled and screamed at the windows. Holmes and I drewcloser to the fire, while the young inspector slowly and point by pointdeveloped his singular narrative."If you were to search all England," said he, "I don't suppose you couldfind a household more self-contained or freer from outside influences.Whole weeks would pass, and not one of them go past the garden gate.The professor was buried in his work and existed for nothing else. YoungSmith knew nobody in the neighbourhood, and lived very much as hisemployer did. The two women had nothing to take them from the house.Mortimer, the gardener, who wheels the Bath chair, is an armypensioner-an old Crimean man of excellent character. He does not live inthe house, but in a three-roomed cottage at the other end of the garden.Those are the only people that you would find within the grounds ofYoxley Old Place. At the same time, the gate of the garden is a hundredyards from the main London to Chatham road. It opens with a latch, andthere is nothing to prevent anyone from walking in."Now I will give you the evidence of Susan Tarlton, who is the onlyperson who can say anything positive about the matter. It was in theforenoon, between eleven and twelve. She was engaged at the moment inhanging some curtains in the upstairs front bedroom. Professor Coramwas still in bed, for when the weather is bad he seldom rises beforemidday. The housekeeper was busied with some work in the back of thehouse. Willoughby Smith had been in his bedroom, which he uses as asitting-room, but the maid heard him at that moment pass along thepassage and descend to the study immediately below her. She did not seehim, but she says that she could not be mistaken in his quick, firm tread.She did not hear the study door close, but a minute or so later there was adreadful cry in the room below. It was a wild, hoarse scream, so strangeand unnatural that it might have come either from a man or a woman. Atthe same instant there was a heavy thud, which shook the old house, andthen all was silence. The maid stood petrified for a moment, and then,recovering her courage, she ran downstairs. The study door was shut andshe opened it. Inside, young Mr. Willoughby Smith was stretched uponthe floor. At first she could see no injury, but as she tried to raise him shesaw that blood was pouring from the underside of his neck. It was pierced[610] by a very small but very deep wound, which had divided the carotidartery. The instrument with which the injury had been inflicted lay uponthe carpet beside him. It was one of those small sealing-wax knives to befound on old-fashioned writing-tables, with an ivory handle and a stiffblade. It was part of the fittings of the professor's own desk."At first the maid thought that young Smith was already dead, but onpouring some water from the carafe over his forehead he opened his eyesfor an instant. 'The professor,' he murmured-'it was she.' The maid isprepared to swear that those were the exact words. He tried desperately to say something else, and he held his right hand up in the air. Then he fellback dead."In the meantime the housekeeper had also arrived upon the scene, butshe was just too late to catch the young man's dying words. LeavingSusan with the body, she hurried to the professor's room. He was sittingup in bed, horribly agitated, for he had heard enough to convince him thatsomething terrible had occurred. Mrs. Marker is prepared to swear thatthe professor was still in his night-clothes, and indeed it was impossiblefor him to dress without the help of Mortimer, whose orders were to comeat twelve o'clock. The professor declares that he heard the distant cry, butthat he knows nothing more. He can give no explanation of the youngman's last words, 'The professor-it was she,' but imagines that they werethe outcome of delirium. He believes that Willoughby Smith had not anenemy in the world, and can give no reason for the crime. His first actionwas to send Mortimer, the gardener, for the local police. A little later thechief constable sent for me. Nothing was moved before I got there, andstrict orders were given that no one should walk upon the paths leading tothe house. It was a splendid chance of putting your theories into practice,Mr. Sherlock Holmes. There was really nothing wanting.""Except Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said my companion, with a somewhatbitter smile. "Well, let us hear about it. What sort of a job did you makeof it?""I must ask you first, Mr. Holmes, to glance at this rough plan, whichwill give you a general idea of the position of the professor's study andthe various points of the case. It will help you in following myinvestigation."He unfolded the rough chart, which I here reproduce, and he laid itacross Holmes's knee. I rose and, standing behind Holmes, studied it overhis shoulder."It is very rough, of course, and it only deals with the points whichseem to me to be essential. All the rest you will see later for yourself.Now, first of all, presuming that the assassin entered the house, how didhe or she come in? Undoubtedly by the garden path and the back door,from which there is direct access to [611] the study. Any other way wouldhave been exceedingly complicated. The escape must have also beenmade along that line, for of the two other exits from the room one wasblocked by Susan as she ran downstairs and the other leads straight to theprofessor's bedroom. I therefore directed my attention at once to thegarden path, which was saturated with recent rain, and would certainlyshow any footmarks."My examination showed me that I was dealing with a cautious andexpert criminal. No footmarks were to be found on the path. There couldbe no question, however, that someone had passed along the grass borderwhich lines the path, and that he had done so in order to avoid leaving atrack. I could not find anything in the nature of a distinct impression, butthe grass was trodden down, and someone had undoubtedly passed. Itcould only have been the murderer, since neither the gardener nor anyoneelse had been there that morning, and the rain had only begun during thenight.""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 through the gate, you could surelypick up the tracks?""Unfortunately, the path was tiled at that point.""Well, on the road itself?""No, it was all trodden into mire.""Tut-tut! Well, then, these tracks upon the grass, were they coming orgoing?""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 a hurricane ever since," said he."It will be harder to read now than that palimpsest. Well, well, it can't behelped. What did you do, Hopkins, after you had made certain that youhad made certain of nothing?""I think I made certain of a good deal, Mr. Holmes. I knew thatsomeone had entered the house cautiously from without. I next examinedthe corridor. It is lined with cocoanut matting and had taken noimpression of any kind. This brought me into the study itself. It is ascantily furnished room. The main article is a large writing-table with afixed bureau. This bureau consists of a double column of drawers, with acentral small cupboard between them. The drawers were open, thecupboard locked. The drawers, it seems, were always open, and nothingof value was kept in them. There were some papers of importance in the cupboard, but there were no signs that this had been tampered with, andthe professor assures me that nothing was missing. It is certain that norobbery has been committed."I come now to the body of the young man. It was found near thebureau, and just to the left of it, as marked upon that chart. The stab wason the right side of the neck and from behind forward, so that it is almostimpossible that it could have been self-inflicted.""Unless he fell upon the knife," said Holmes."Exactly. The idea crossed my mind. But we found the knife some feetaway from the body, so that seems impossible. Then, of course, there arethe man's own [612] dying words. And, finally, there was this veryimportant piece of evidence which was found clasped in the dead man'sright hand."From his pocket Stanley Hopkins drew a small paper packet. Heunfolded it and disclosed a golden pince-nez, with two broken ends ofblack silk cord dangling from the end of it. "Willoughby Smith hadexcellent 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 his hand, and examined themwith the utmost attention and interest. He held them on his nose,endeavoured to read through them, went to the window and stared up thestreet with them, looked at them most minutely in the full light of thelamp, and finally, with a chuckle, seated himself at the table and wrote afew 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 someuse."The astonished detective read the note aloud. It ran as follows:"Wanted, a woman of good address, attired like a lady. She hasa remarkably thick nose, with eyes which are set close upon eitherside of it. She has a puckered forehead, a peering expression, andprobably rounded shoulders. There are indications that she has hadrecourse to an optician at least twice during the last few months.As her glasses are of remarkable strength, and as opticians are notvery numerous, there should be no difficulty in tracing her."Holmes smiled at the astonishment of Hopkins, which must have beenreflected upon my features."Surely my deductions are simplicity itself," said he. "It would bedifficult to name any articles which afford a finer field for inference thana pair of glasses, especially so remarkable a pair as these. That theybelong to a woman I infer from their delicacy, and also, of course, fromthe last words of the dying man. As to her being a person of refinementand well dressed, they are, as you perceive, handsomely mounted in solidgold, and it is inconceivable that anyone who wore such glasses could beslatternly in other respects. You will find that the clips are too wide foryour nose, showing that the lady's nose was very broad at the base. Thissort of nose is usually a short and coarse one, but there is a sufficientnumber of exceptions to prevent me from being dogmatic or frominsisting upon this point in my description. My own face is a narrow one, and yet I find that I cannot get my eyes into the centre, nor near thecentre, of these glasses. Therefore, the lady's eyes are set very near to thesides of the nose. You will perceive, Watson, that the glasses are concaveand of unusual strength. A lady whose vision has been so extremelycontracted all her life is sure to have the physical characteristics of suchvision, which are seen in the forehead, the eyelids, and the shoulders.""Yes," I said, "I can follow each of your arguments. I confess,however, that I am unable to understand how you arrive at the doublevisit to the optician."Holmes took the glasses in his hand."You will perceive," he said, "that the clips are lined with tiny bands ofcork to soften the pressure upon the nose. One of these is discoloured andworn to some slight extent, but the other is new. Evidently one has fallenoff and been replaced. I should judge that the older of them has not beenthere more than a few months. They exactly correspond, so I gather thatthe lady went back to the same establishment for the second."[613] "By George, it's marvellous!" cried Hopkins, in an ecstasy ofadmiration. "To think that I had all that evidence in my hand and neverknew it! I had intended, however, to go the round of the Londonopticians.""Of course you would. Meanwhile, have you anything more to tell usabout the case?""Nothing, Mr. Holmes. I think that you know as much as I do now-probably more. We have had inquiries made as to any stranger seen onthe country roads or at the railway station. We have heard of none. Whatbeats me is the utter want of all object in the crime. Not a ghost of amotive can anyone suggest.""Ah! there I am not in a position to help you. But I suppose you wantus to come out to-morrow?""If it is not asking too much, Mr. Holmes. There's a train from CharingCross to Chatham at six in the morning, and we should be at Yoxley OldPlace 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, andwe had best get a few hours' sleep. I daresay you can manage all right onthe sofa in front of the fire. I'll light my spirit lamp, and give you a cup ofcoffee before we start."The gale had blown itself out next day, but it was a bitter morningwhen we started upon our journey. We saw the cold winter sun rise overthe dreary marshes of the Thames and the long, sullen reaches of theriver, which I shall ever associate with our pursuit of the AndamanIslander in the earlier days of our career. After a long and weary journey,we alighted at a small station some miles from Chatham. While a horsewas being put into a trap at the local inn, we snatched a hurried breakfast,and so we were all ready for business when we at last arrived at YoxleyOld 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 that no stranger eithercame or went yesterday.""Have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?""Yes, sir: there is no one that we cannot account for.""Well, it's only a reasonable walk to Chatham. Anyone might staythere or take a train without being observed. This is the garden path ofwhich I spoke, Mr. Holmes. I'll pledge my word there was no mark on ityesterday.""On which side were the marks on the grass?""This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass between the path and theflower-bed. I can't see the traces now, but they were clear to me then.""Yes, yes: someone has passed along," said Holmes, stooping over thegrass border. "Our lady must have picked her steps carefully, must shenot, since on the one side she would leave a track on the path, and on theother an even clearer one on the soft bed?""Yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand."I saw an intent look pass over Holmes's face."You say that she must have come back this way?""Yes, sir, there is no other.""On this strip of grass?""Certainly, Mr. Holmes."[614] "Hum! It was a very remarkable performance-very remarkable.Well, I think we have exhausted the path. Let us go farther. This gardendoor is usually kept open, I suppose? Then this visitor had nothing to dobut to walk in. The idea of murder was not in her mind, or she would haveprovided herself with some sort of weapon, instead of having to pick thisknife off the writing-table. She advanced along this corridor, leaving notraces upon the cocoanut matting. Then she found herself in this study.How long was she there? We have no means of judging.""Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Marker,the housekeeper, had been in there tidying not very long before-about aquarter of an hour, she says.""Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters this room, and what doesshe do? She goes over to the writing-table. What for? Not for anything inthe drawers. If there had been anything worth her taking, it would surelyhave been locked up. No, it was for something in that wooden bureau.Halloa! what is that scratch upon the face of it? Just hold a match,Watson. Why did you not tell me of this, Hopkins?"The mark which he was examining began upon the brasswork on theright-hand side of the keyhole, and extended for about four inches, whereit 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 as the surface. Look at itthrough my lens. There's the varnish, too, like earth on each side of afurrow. 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 would have swept away theseshreds 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 littleprogress. Our lady enters the room, advances to the bureau, and eitheropens it or tries to do so. While she is thus engaged, young WilloughbySmith enters the room. In her hurry to withdraw the key, she makes thisscratch 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 himlet go his hold. The blow is a fatal one. He falls and she escapes, eitherwith or without the object for which she has come. Is Susan, the maid,there? Could anyone have got away through that door after the time thatyou 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, or I would haveheard it.""That settles this exit. Then no doubt the lady went out the way shecame. I understand that this other passage leads only to the professor'sroom. There is no exit that way?""No, sir."[615] "We shall go down it and make the acquaintance of the professor.Halloa, Hopkins! this is very important, very important indeed. The professor's corridor is also lined with cocoanut matting.""Well, sir, what of that?""Don't you see any bearing upon the case? Well, well. I don't insistupon 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 the same length as thatwhich led to the garden. At the end was a short flight of steps ending in adoor. Our guide knocked, and then ushered us into the professor'sbedroom.It was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes, whichhad overflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in the corners, or werestacked all round at the base of the cases. The bed was in the centre of theroom, and in it, propped up with pillows, was the owner of the house. Ihave seldom seen a more remarkable-looking person. It was a gaunt,aquiline face which was turned towards us, with piercing dark eyes,which lurked in deep hollows under overhung and tufted brows. His hairand beard were white, save that the latter was curiously stained withyellow around his mouth. A cigarette glowed amid the tangle of whitehair, and the air of the room was fetid with stale tobacco smoke. As heheld out his hand to Holmes, I perceived that it was also stained withyellow nicotine."A smoker, Mr. Holmes?" said he, speaking in well-chosen English,with a curious little mincing accent. "Pray take a cigarette. And you, sir? Ican recommend them, for I have them especially prepared by Ionides, ofAlexandria. He sends me a thousand at a time, and I grieve to say that Ihave to arrange for a fresh supply every fortnight. Bad, sir, very bad, butan old man has few pleasures. Tobacco and my work-that is all that is leftto me."Holmes had lit a cigarette and was shooting little darting glances allover the room."Tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco," the old manexclaimed. "Alas! what a fatal interruption! Who could have foreseensuch a terrible catastrophe? So estimable a young man! I assure you that,after a few months' training, he was an admirable assistant. What do youthink of the matter, Mr. Holmes?""I have not yet made up my mind.""I shall indeed be indebted to you if you can throw a light where all isso dark to us. To a poor bookworm and invalid like myself such a blow isparalyzing. I seem to have lost the faculty of thought. But you are a manof action-you are a man of affairs. It is part of the everyday routine ofyour life. You can preserve your balance in every emergency. We arefortunate, indeed, in having you at our side."Holmes was pacing up and down one side of the room whilst the oldprofessor was talking. I observed that he was smoking with extraordinaryrapidity. It was evident that he shared our host's liking for the freshAlexandrian cigarettes."Yes, sir, it is a crushing blow," said the old man. "That is my magnumopus-the pile of papers on the side table yonder. It is my analysis of thedocuments found in the Coptic monasteries of Syria and Egypt, a work which will cut deep at the very foundation of revealed religion. With myenfeebled health I do not know whether I 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 quicker smoker than I am myself."[616] Holmes smiled."I am a connoisseur," said he, taking another cigarette from the box-hisfourth-and lighting it from the stub of that which he had finished. "I willnot trouble you with any lengthy cross-examination, Professor Coram,since I gather that you were in bed at the time of the crime, and couldknow nothing about it. I would only ask this: What do you imagine thatthis poor fellow meant by his last words: 'The professor-it was she'?"The professor shook his head."Susan is a country girl," said he, "and you know the incrediblestupidity of that class. I fancy that the poor fellow murmured someincoherent, delirious words, and that she twisted them into thismeaningless message.""I see. You have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?""Possibly an accident, possibly-I only breathe it among ourselves-asuicide. Young men have their hidden troubles-some affair of the heart,perhaps, which we have never known. It is a more probable suppositionthan murder.""But the eyeglasses?""Ah! I am only a student-a man of dreams. I cannot explain thepractical things of life. But still, we are aware, my friend, that love-gagesmay take strange shapes. By all means take another cigarette. It is apleasure to see anyone appreciate them so. A fan, a glove, glasses-whoknows what article may be carried as a token or treasured when a manputs an end to his life? This gentleman speaks of footsteps in the grass,but, after all, it is easy to be mistaken on such a point. As to the knife, itmight well be thrown far from the unfortunate man as he fell. It ispossible that I speak as a child, but to me it seems that Willoughby Smithhas met his fate by his own hand."Holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put forward, and he continuedto walk up and down for some time, lost in thought and consumingcigarette after cigarette."Tell me, Professor Coram," he said, at last, "what is in that cupboardin the bureau?""Nothing that would help a thief. Family papers, letters from my poorwife, diplomas of universities which have done me honour. Here is thekey. You can look for yourself."Holmes picked up the key, and looked at it for an instant, then hehanded it back."No, I hardly think that it would help me," said he. "I should prefer togo quietly down to your garden, and turn the whole matter over in myhead. There is something to be said for the theory of suicide which youhave put forward. We must apologize for having intruded upon you,Professor Coram, and I promise that we won't disturb you until afterlunch. At two o'clock we will come again, and report to you anythingwhich may have happened in the interval."Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down the gardenpath for some time in silence."Have you a clue?" I asked, at last."It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked," said he. "It is possiblethat I am utterly mistaken. The cigarettes will show me.""My dear Holmes," I exclaimed, "how on earth- -""Well, well, you may see for yourself. If not, there's no harm done. Ofcourse, we always have the optician clue to fall back upon, but I take ashort cut when I [617] can get it. Ah, here is the good Mrs. Marker! Let usenjoy five minutes of instructive conversation with her."I may have remarked before that Holmes had, when he liked, apeculiarly ingratiating way with women, and that he very readilyestablished terms of confidence with them. In half the time which he hadnamed, he had captured the housekeeper's goodwill and was chatting withher as if he had known her for years."Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is as you say, sir. He does smoke somethingterrible. All day and sometimes all night, sir. I've seen that room of amorning- well, sir, you'd have thought it was a London fog. Poor youngMr. Smith, he was a smoker also, but not as bad as the professor. Hishealth-well, I don't know that it's better nor worse for the smoking.""Ah!" said Holmes, "but it kills the appetite.""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 this morning, and won't face his lunchafter all the cigarettes I saw him consume.""Well, you're out there, sir, as it happens, for he ate a remarkable bigbreakfast this morning. I don't know when I've known him make a betterone, and he's ordered a good dish of cutlets for his lunch. I'm surprisedmyself, for since I came into that room yesterday and saw young Mr.Smith lying there on the floor, I couldn't bear to look at food. Well, ittakes all sorts to make a world, and the professor hasn't let it take hisappetite away."We loitered the morning away in the garden. Stanley Hopkins had gonedown to the village to look into some rumours of a strange woman whohad been seen by some children on the Chatham Road the previousmorning. As to my friend, all his usual energy seemed to have desertedhim. I had never known him handle a case in such a half-hearted fashion.Even the news brought back by Hopkins that he had found the children,and that they had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly corresponding withHolmes's description, and wearing either spectacles or eyeglasses, failedto rouse any sign of keen interest. He was more attentive when Susan,who waited upon us at lunch, volunteered the information that shebelieved Mr. Smith had been out for a walk yesterday morning, and thathe had only returned half an hour before the tragedy occurred. I could notmyself see the bearing of this incident, but I clearly perceived thatHolmes was weaving it into the general scheme which he had formed inhis brain. Suddenly he sprang from his chair and glanced at his watch."Two o'clock, gentlemen," said he. "We must go up and have it out withour friend, the professor."The old man had just finished his lunch, and certainly his empty dishbore evidence to the good appetite with which his housekeeper hadcredited him. He was, indeed, a weird figure as he turned his white maneand his glowing eyes towards us. The eternal cigarette smouldered in hismouth. He had been dressed and was seated in an armchair by the fire."Well, Mr. Holmes, have you solved this mystery yet?" He shoved thelarge tin of cigarettes which stood on a table beside him towards mycompanion. Holmes stretched out his hand at the same moment, andbetween them they tipped the box over the edge. For a minute or two wewere all on our knees retrieving stray cigarettes from impossible places.When we rose again, I observed Holmes's eyes [618] were shining and hischeeks 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 sneerquivered over the gaunt features 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 tellyou that this is too serious a matter to be treated in such a fashion." "I have forged and tested every link of my chain, Professor Coram, andI 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 Ishall probably hear it from your own lips. Meanwhile I will reconstructwhat is past for your benefit, so that you may know the information whichI still require."A lady yesterday entered your study. She came with the intention ofpossessing herself of certain documents which were in your bureau. Shehad a key of her own. I have had an opportunity of examining yours, and Ido not find that slight discolouration which the scratch made upon thevarnish would have produced. You were not an accessory, therefore, andshe came, so far as I can read the evidence, without your knowledge torob you."The professor blew a cloud from his lips. "This is most interesting andinstructive," said he. "Have you no more to add? Surely, having tracedthis lady so far, you can 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 aminclined to regard as an unhappy accident, for I am convinced that thelady had no intention of inflicting so grievous an injury. An assassin doesnot come unarmed. Horrified by what she had done, she rushed wildlyaway from the scene of the tragedy. Unfortunately for her, she had losther glasses in the scuffle, and as she was extremely shortsighted she wasreally helpless without them. She ran down a corridor, which sheimagined to be that by which she had come-both were lined withcocoanut matting-and it was only when it was too late that sheunderstood that she had taken the wrong passage, and that her retreat wascut off behind her. What was she to do? She could not go back. She couldnot remain where she was. She must go on. She went on. She mounted astair, pushed open a door, and found herself in your room."The old man sat with his mouth open, staring wildly at Holmes.Amazement and fear were stamped upon his expressive features. Now,with an effort, he shrugged his shoulders and burst into insincere laughter."All very fine, Mr. Holmes," said he. "But there is one little flaw inyour splendid theory. I was myself in my room, and I never left it duringthe day.""I am aware of that, Professor Coram.""And you mean to say that I could lie upon that bed and not be awarethat a woman had entered my room?""I never said so. You were aware of it. You spoke with her. Yourecognized her. You aided her to escape."Again the professor burst into high-keyed laughter. He had risen to hisfeet, and his eyes glowed like embers.[619] "You are mad!" he cried. "You are talking insanely. I helped herto escape? Where is she now?""She is there," said Holmes, and he pointed to a high bookcase in thecorner of the room.I saw the old man throw up his arms, a terrible convulsion passed overhis grim face, and he fell back in his chair. At the same instant the bookcase at which Holmes pointed swung round upon a hinge, and awoman 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 with the cobwebs which hadcome from the walls of her hiding-place. Her face, too, was streaked withgrime, and at the best she could never have been handsome, for she hadthe exact physical characteristics which Holmes had divined, with, inaddition, a long and obstinate chin. What with her natural blindness, andwhat with the change from dark to light, she stood as one dazed, blinkingabout her to see where and who we were. And yet, in spite of all thesedisadvantages, there was a certain nobility in the woman's bearing-agallantry in the defiant chin and in the upraised head, which compelledsomething of respect and admiration.Stanley Hopkins had laid his hand upon her arm and claimed her as hisprisoner, but she waved him aside gently, and yet with an over-masteringdignity which compelled obedience. The old man lay back in his chairwith a twitching face, and stared at her with brooding eyes."Yes, sir, I am your prisoner," she said. "From where I stood I couldhear everything, and I know that you have learned the truth. I confess itall. It was I who killed the young man. But you are right-you who say itwas an accident. I did not even know that it was a knife which I held inmy hand, for in my despair I snatched anything from the table and struckat him to make him let me go. It is the truth that I tell.""Madam," said Holmes, "I am sure that it is the truth. I fear that you are far from well."She had turned a dreadful colour, the more ghastly under the dark duststreaks upon her face. She seated herself on the side of the bed; then sheresumed."I have only a little time here," she said, "but I would have you to knowthe whole truth. I am this man's wife. He is not an Englishman. He is aRussian. 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 in his direction. "Why should youcling so hard to that wretched life of yours, Sergius?" said she. "It hasdone harm to many and good to none-not even to yourself. However, it isnot for me to cause the frail thread to be snapped before God's time. Ihave enough already upon my soul since I crossed the threshold of thiscursed house. But I must speak or I shall be too late."I have said, gentlemen, that I am this man's wife. He was fifty and I afoolish girl of twenty when we married. It was in a city of Russia, auniversity-I will not name the place.""God bless you, Anna!" murmured the old man again."We were reformers-revolutionists-Nihilists, you understand. He and Iand many more. Then there came a time of trouble, a police officer waskilled, many [620] were arrested, evidence was wanted, and in order tosave his own life and to earn a great reward, my husband betrayed hisown wife and his companions. Yes, we were all arrested upon hisconfession. Some of us found our way to the gallows, and some toSiberia. I was among these last, but my term was not for life. My husbandcame to England with his ill-gotten gains and has lived in quiet eversince, knowing well that if the Brotherhood knew where he was not aweek would pass before justice would be done."The old man reached out a trembling hand and helped himself to acigarette. "I am in your hands, Anna," said he. "You were always good tome.""I have not yet told you the height of his villainy," said she. "Amongour comrades of the Order, there was one who was the friend of my heart.He was noble, unselfish, loving-all that my husband was not. He hatedviolence. We were all guilty-if that is guilt-but he was not. He wroteforever dissuading us from such a course. These letters would have savedhim. So would my diary, in which, from day to day, I had entered bothmy feelings towards him and the view which each of us had taken. Myhusband found and kept both diary and letters. He hid them, and he triedhard to swear away the young man's life. In this he failed, but Alexis wassent a convict to Siberia, where now, at this moment, he works in a saltmine. Think of that, you villain, you villain!- now, now, at this verymoment, Alexis, a man whose name you are not worthy to speak, worksand lives like a slave, and yet I have your life in my hands, and I let yougo.""You were always a noble woman, Anna," said the old man, puffing athis cigarette.She had risen, but she fell back again with a 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, wouldprocure my friend's release. I knew that my husband had come toEngland. After months of searching I discovered where he was. I knewthat he still had the diary, for when I was in Siberia I had a letter fromhim once, reproaching me and quoting some passages from its pages. YetI was sure that, with his revengeful nature, he would never give it to meof his own free-will. I must get it for myself. With this object I engagedan agent from a private detective firm, who entered my husband's houseas a secretary-it was your second secretary, Sergius, the one who left youso hurriedly. He found that papers were kept in the cupboard, and he gotan impression of the key. He would not go farther. He furnished me witha plan of the house, and he told me that in the forenoon the study wasalways empty, as the secretary was employed up here. So at last I took my courage in both hands, and I came down to get the papers for myself. Isucceeded; but at what a cost!"I had just taken the papers and was locking the cupboard, when theyoung man seized me. I had seen him already that morning. He had metme on the road, and I had asked him to tell me where Professor Coramlived, not knowing that he was in his employ.""Exactly! Exactly!" said Holmes. "The secretary came back, and toldhis employer of the woman he had met. Then, in his last breath, he triedto send a message that it was she-the she whom he had just discussedwith him.""You must let me speak," said the woman, in an imperative voice, andher face contracted as if in pain. "When he had fallen I rushed from theroom, chose the wrong door, and found myself in my husband's room. Hespoke of giving me up. I showed him that if he did so, his life was in myhands. If he gave me to the law, [621] I could give him to the Brotherhood.It was not that I wished to live for my own sake, but it was that I desiredto accomplish my purpose. He knew that I would do what I said-that hisown fate was involved in mine. For that reason, and for no other, heshielded me. 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 so wasable 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 someway you have read our plans." She tore from the bosom of her dress asmall packet. "These are my last words," said she; "here is the packetwhich will save Alexis. I confide it to your honour and to your love ofjustice. Take it! You will deliver it at the Russian Embassy. Now, I havedone my duty, and- -""Stop her!" cried Holmes. He had bounded across the room and hadwrenched a small phial from her hand."Too late!" she said, sinking back on the bed. "Too late! I took thepoison before I left my hiding-place. My head swims! I am going! Icharge you, sir, to remember the packet.""A simple case, and yet, in some ways, an instructive one," Holmesremarked, as we travelled back to town. "It hinged from the outset uponthe pince-nez. But for the fortunate chance of the dying man havingseized these, I am not sure that we could ever have reached our solution.It was clear to me, from the strength of the glasses, that the wearer musthave been very blind and helpless when deprived of them. When youasked me to believe that she walked along a narrow strip of grass withoutonce making a false step, I remarked, as you may remember, that it was anoteworthy performance. In my mind I set it down as an impossibleperformance, save in the unlikely case that she had a second pair ofglasses. I was forced, therefore, to consider seriously the hypothesis thatshe had remained within the house. On perceiving the similarity of thetwo corridors, it became clear that she might very easily have made sucha mistake, and, in that case, it was evident that she must have entered theprofessor's room. I was keenly on the alert, therefore, for whatever wouldbear out this supposition, and I examined the room narrowly for anythingin the shape of a hiding-place. The carpet seemed continuous and firmlynailed, so I dismissed the idea of a trap-door. There might well be a recessbehind the books. As you are aware, such devices are common in oldlibraries. I observed that books were piled on the floor at all other points, but that one bookcase was left clear. This, then, might be the door. I couldsee no marks to guide me, but the carpet was of a dun colour, which lendsitself very well to examination. I therefore smoked a great number ofthose excellent cigarettes, and I dropped the ash all over the space in frontof the suspected bookcase. It was a simple trick, but exceedinglyeffective. I then went downstairs, and I ascertained, in your presence,Watson, without your perceiving the drift of my remarks, that ProfessorCoram's consumption of food had increased-as one would expect whenhe is supplying a second person. We then ascended to the room again,when, by upsetting the cigarette-box, I obtained a very excellent view ofthe floor, and was able to see quite clearly, from the traces upon thecigarette ash, that the prisoner had in our absence come out from herretreat. Well, Hopkins, here we are at Charing Cross, and I congratulateyou on having brought your case to a successful conclusion. You aregoing to headquarters, no doubt. I think, Watson, you and I will drivetogether to the Russian Embassy."