Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

His Last Bow WISTERIA LODGE II. THE TIGER OF SAN PEDRO

A COLD and melancholy walk of a couple of miles brought us to a highwooden gate, which opened into a gloomy avenue of chestnuts. Thecurved and shadowed drive led us to a low, dark house, pitch-blackagainst a slate-coloured sky. From the front window upon the left of thedoor there peeped a glimmer of a feeble light."There's a constable in possession," said Baynes. "I'll knock at thewindow." He stepped across the grass plot and tapped with his hand onthe pane. Through the fogged glass I dimly saw a man spring up from achair beside the fire, and heard a sharp cry from within the room. Aninstant later a white-faced, hard-breathing policeman had opened thedoor, the candle wavering in his trembling hand."What's the matter, Walters?" asked Baynes sharply.The man mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and gave a longsigh of relief."I am glad you have come, sir. It has been a long evening, and I don'tthink my nerve is as good as it was.""Your nerve, Walters? I should not have thought you had a nerve inyour body.""Well, sir, it's this lonely, silent house and the queer thing in thekitchen. Then when you tapped at the window I thought it had comeagain.""That what had come again?""The devil, sir, for all I know. It was at the window.""What was at the window, and when?""It was just about two hours ago. The light was just fading. I was sittingreading in the chair. I don't know what made me look up, but there was aface looking in [878] at me through the lower pane. Lord, sir, what a faceit was! I'll see it in my dreams.""Tut, tut, Walters. This is not talk for a police-constable.""I know, sir, I know; but it shook me, sir, and there's no use to deny it.It wasn't black, sir, nor was it white, nor any colour that I know, but akind of queer shade like clay with a splash of milk in it. Then there wasthe size of it-it was twice yours, sir. And the look of it-the great staringgoggle eyes, and the line of white teeth like a hungry beast. I tell you, sir,I couldn't move a finger, nor get my breath, till it whisked away and wasgone. Out I ran and through the shrubbery, but thank God there was noone there.""If I didn't know you were a good man, Walters, I should put a blackmark against you for this. If it were the devil himself a constable on dutyshould never thank God that he could not lay his hands upon him. Isuppose the whole thing is not a vision and a touch of nerves?""That, at least, is very easily settled," said Holmes, lighting his littlepocket lantern. "Yes," he reported, after a short examination of the grassbed, "a number twelve shoe, I should say. If he was all on the same scaleas his foot he must certainly have been a giant.""What became of him?""He seems to have broken through the shrubbery and made for theroad.""Well," said the inspector with a grave and thoughtful face, "whoeverhe may have been, and whatever he may have wanted, he's gone for thepresent, and we have more immediate things to attend to. Now, Mr.Holmes, with your permission, I will show you round the house."The various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had yielded nothing to acareful search. Apparently the tenants had brought little or nothing withthem, and all the furniture down to the smallest details had been takenover with the house. A good deal of clothing with the stamp of Marx and Co., High Holborn, had been left behind. Telegraphic inquiries had beenalready made which showed that Marx knew nothing of his customer savethat he was a good payer. Odds and ends, some pipes, a few novels, twoof them in Spanish, an old-fashioned pinfire revolver, and a guitar wereamong the personal property."Nothing in all this," said Baynes, stalking, candle in hand, from roomto room. "But now, Mr. Holmes, I invite your attention to the kitchen."It was a gloomy, high-ceilinged room at the back of the house, with astraw litter in one corner, which served apparently as a bed for the cook.The table was piled with half-eaten dishes and dirty plates, the debris oflast night's dinner."Look at this," said Baynes. "What do you make of it?"He held up his candle before an extraordinary object which stood at theback of the dresser. It was so wrinkled and shrunken and withered that itwas difficult to say what it might have been. One could but say that it wasblack and leathery and that it bore some resemblance to a dwarfish,human figure. At first, as I examined it, I thought that it was a mummifiednegro baby, and then it seemed a very twisted and ancient monkey.Finally I was left in doubt as to whether it was animal or human. Adouble band of white shells was strung round the centre of it."Very interesting-very interesting, indeed!" said Holmes, peering atthis sinister relic. "Anything more?"In silence Baynes led the way to the sink and held forward his candle.The limbs and body of some large, white bird, torn savagely to pieces with the feathers still on, were littered all over it. Holmes pointed to thewattles on the severed head.[879] "A white cock," said he. "Most interesting! It is really a verycurious case."But Mr. Baynes had kept his most sinister exhibit to the last. Fromunder the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained a quantity of blood.Then from the table he took a platter heaped with small pieces of charredbone."Something has been killed and something has been burned. We rakedall these out of the fire. We had a doctor in this morning. He says thatthey are not human."Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands."I must congratulate you, Inspector, on handling so distinctive andinstructive a case. Your powers, if I may say so without offence, seemsuperior to your opportunities."Inspector Baynes's small eyes twinkled with pleasure."You're right, Mr. Holmes. We stagnate in the provinces. A case of thissort gives a man a chance, and I hope that I shall take it. What do youmake of these bones?""A lamb, I should say, or a kid.""And the white cock?""Curious, Mr. Baynes, very curious. I should say almost unique.""Yes, sir, there must have been some very strange people with somevery strange ways in this house. One of them is dead. Did his companionsfollow him and kill him? If they did we should have them, for every portis watched. But my own views are different. Yes, sir, my own views are very different.""You have a theory then?""And I'll work it myself, Mr. Holmes. It's only due to my own credit todo so. Your name is made, but I have still to make mine. I should be gladto be able to say afterwards that I had solved it without your help."Holmes laughed good-humouredly."Well, well, Inspector," said he. "Do you follow your path and I willfollow mine. My results are always very much at your service if you careto apply to me for them. I think that I have seen all that I wish in thishouse, and that my time may be more profitably employed elsewhere. Aurevoir and good luck!"I could tell by numerous subtle signs, which might have been lost uponanyone but myself, that Holmes was on a hot scent. As impassive as everto the casual observer, there were none the less a subdued eagerness andsuggestion of tension in his brightened eyes and brisker manner whichassured me that the game was afoot. After his habit he said nothing, andafter mine I asked no questions. Sufficient for me to share the sport andlend my humble help to the capture without distracting that intent brainwith needless interruption. All would come round to me in due time.I waited, therefore-but to my ever-deepening disappointment I waitedin vain. Day succeeded day, and my friend took no step forward. Onemorning he spent in town, and I learned from a casual reference that hehad visited the British Museum. Save for this one excursion, he spent hisdays in long and often solitary walks, or in chatting with a number ofvillage gossips whose acquaintance he had cultivated."I'm sure, Watson, a week in the country will be invaluable to you," heremarked. "It is very pleasant to see the first green shoots upon the hedgesand the catkins on the hazels once again. With a spud, a tin box, and anelementary book on botany, there are instructive days to be spent." Heprowled about with this equipment himself, but it was a poor show ofplants which he would bring back of an evening.[880] Occasionally in our rambles we came across Inspector Baynes.His fat, red face wreathed itself in smiles and his small eyes glittered ashe greeted my companion. He said little about the case, but from that littlewe gathered that he also was not dissatisfied at the course of events. Imust admit, however, that I was somewhat surprised when, some fivedays after the crime, I opened my morning paper to find in large letters:THE OXSHOTT MYSTERYA SOLUTIONARREST OF SUPPOSED ASSASSINHolmes sprang in his chair as if he had been stung when I read theheadlines."By Jove!" he cried. "You don't mean that Baynes has got him?""Apparently," said I as I read the following report:"Great excitement was caused in Esher and the neighbouringdistrict when it was learned late last night that an arrest had been effected in connection with the Oxshott murder. It will beremembered that Mr. Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, was found deadon Oxshott Common, his body showing signs of extreme violence,and that on the same night his servant and his cook fled, whichappeared to show their participation in the crime. It was suggested,but never proved, that the deceased gentleman may have hadvaluables in the house, and that their abstraction was the motive ofthe crime. Every effort was made by Inspector Baynes, who hasthe case in hand, to ascertain the hiding place of the fugitives, andhe had good reason to believe that they had not gone far but werelurking in some retreat which had been already prepared. It wascertain from the first, however, that they would eventually bedetected, as the cook, from the evidence of one or twotradespeople who have caught a glimpse of him through thewindow, was a man of most remarkable appearance-being a hugeand hideous mulatto, with yellowish features of a pronouncednegroid type. This man has been seen since the crime, for he wasdetected and pursued by Constable Walters on the same evening,when he had the audacity to revisit Wisteria Lodge. InspectorBaynes, considering that such a visit must have some purpose inview and was likely, therefore, to be repeated, abandoned thehouse but left an ambuscade in the shrubbery. The man walkedinto the trap and was captured last night after a struggle in whichConstable Downing was badly bitten by the savage. Weunderstand that when the prisoner is brought before themagistrates a remand will be applied for by the police, and thatgreat developments are hoped from his capture.""Really we must see Baynes at once," cried Holmes, picking up his hat."We will just catch him before he starts." We hurried down the villagestreet and found, as we had expected, that the inspector was just leavinghis lodgings."You've seen the paper, Mr. Holmes?" he asked, holding one out to us."Yes, Baynes, I've seen it. Pray don't think it a liberty if I give you aword of friendly warning.""Of warning, Mr. Holmes?""I have looked into this case with some care, and I am not convincedthat you are on the right lines. I don't want you to commit yourself too farunless you are sure."[881] "You're very kind, Mr. Holmes.""I assure you I speak for your good."It seemed to me that something like a wink quivered for an instant overone of Mr. Baynes's tiny eyes."We agreed to work on our own lines, Mr. Holmes. That's what I amdoing.""Oh, very good," said Holmes. "Don't blame me.""No, sir; I believe you mean well by me. But we all have our ownsystems, Mr. Holmes. You have yours, and maybe I have mine.""Let us say no more about it.""You're welcome always to my news. This fellow is a perfect savage,as strong as a cart-horse and as fierce as the devil. He chewed Downing'sthumb nearly off before they could master him. He hardly speaks a wordof English, and we can get nothing out of him but grunts.""And you think you have evidence that he murdered his late master?" "I didn't say so, Mr. Holmes; I didn't say so. We all have our littleways. You try yours and I will try mine. That's the agreement."Holmes shrugged his shoulders as we walked away together. "I can'tmake the man out. He seems to be riding for a fall. Well, as he says, wemust each try our own way and see what comes of it. But there'ssomething in Inspector Baynes which I can't quite understand.""Just sit down in that chair, Watson," said Sherlock Holmes when wehad returned to our apartment at the Bull. "I want to put you in touch withthe situation, as I may need your help to-night. Let me show you theevolution of this case so far as I have been able to follow it. Simple as ithas been in its leading features, it has none the less presented surprisingdifficulties in the way of an arrest. There are gaps in that direction whichwe have still to fill."We will go back to the note which was handed in to Garcia upon theevening of his death. We may put aside this idea of Baynes's thatGarcia's servants were concerned in the matter. The proof of this lies inthe fact that it was he who had arranged for the presence of Scott Eccles,which could only have been done for the purpose of an alibi. It wasGarcia, then, who had an enterprise, and apparently a criminal enterprise,in hand that night in the course of which he met his death. I say 'criminal'because only a man with a criminal enterprise desires to establish an alibi.Who, then, is most likely to have taken his life? Surely the person againstwhom the criminal enterprise was directed. So far it seems to me that weare on safe ground."We can now see a reason for the disappearance of Garcia's household.They were all confederates in the same unknown crime. If it came offwhen Garcia returned, any possible suspicion would be warded off by theEnglishman's evidence, and all would be well. But the attempt was adangerous one, and if Garcia did not return by a certain hour it wasprobable that his own life had been sacrificed. It had been arranged,therefore, that in such a case his two subordinates were to make for someprearranged spot where they could escape investigation and be in aposition afterwards to renew their attempt. That would fully explain thefacts, would it not?"The whole inexplicable tangle seemed to straighten out before me. Iwondered, as I always did, how it had not been obvious to me before."But why should one servant return?""We can imagine that in the confusion of flight something precious,something [882] which he could not bear to part with, had been leftbehind. That would explain his persistence, would it not?""Well, what is the next step?""The next step is the note received by Garcia at the dinner. It indicatesa confederate at the other end. Now, where was the other end? I havealready shown you that it could only lie in some large house, and that thenumber of large houses is limited. My first days in this village weredevoted to a series of walks in which in the intervals of my botanicalresearches I made a reconnaissance of all the large houses and anexamination of the family history of the occupants. One house, and onlyone, riveted my attention. It is the famous old Jacobean grange of High Gable, one mile on the farther side of Oxshott, and less than half a milefrom the scene of the tragedy. The other mansions belonged to prosaicand respectable people who live far aloof from romance. But Mr.Henderson, of High Gable, was by all accounts a curious man to whomcurious adventures might befall. I concentrated my attention, therefore,upon him and his household."A singular set of people, Watson-the man himself the most singular ofthem all. I managed to see him on a plausible pretext, but I seemed to readin his dark, deep-set, brooding eyes that he was perfectly aware of mytrue business. He is a man of fifty, strong, active, with iron-gray hair,great bunched black eyebrows, the step of a deer, and the air of anemperor-a fierce, masterful man, with a red-hot spirit behind hisparchment face. He is either a foreigner or has lived long in the tropics,for he is yellow and sapless, but tough as whipcord. His friend andsecretary, Mr. Lucas, is undoubtedly a foreigner, chocolate brown, wily,suave, and catlike, with a poisonous gentleness of speech. You see,Watson, we have come already upon two sets of foreigners-one atWisteria Lodge and one at High Gable-so our gaps are beginning to close."These two men, close and confidential friends, are the centre of thehousehold; but there is one other person who for our immediate purposemay be even more important. Henderson has two children-girls of elevenand thirteen. Their governess is a Miss Burnet, an Englishwoman of fortyor thereabouts. There is also one confidential manservant. This littlegroup forms the real family, for they travel about together, and Hendersonis a great traveller, always on the move. It is only within the last fewweeks that he has returned, after a year's absence, to High Gable. I mayadd that he is enormously rich, and whatever his whims may be he canvery easily satisfy them. For the rest, his house is full of butlers, footmen,maidservants, and the usual overfed, underworked staff of a large Englishcountry-house."So much I learned partly from village gossip and partly from my ownobservation. There are no better instruments than discharged servantswith a grievance, and I was lucky enough to find one. I call it luck, but itwould not have come my way had I not been looking out for it. AsBaynes remarks, we all have our systems. It was my system whichenabled me to find John Warner, late gardener of High Gable, sacked in amoment of temper by his imperious employer. He in turn had friendsamong the indoor servants who unite in their fear and dislike of theirmaster. So I had my key to the secrets of the establishment."Curious people, Watson! I don't pretend to understand it all yet, butvery curious people anyway. It's a double-winged house, and the servantslive on one side, the family on the other. There's no link between the twosave for Henderson's own servant, who serves the family's meals.Everything is carried to a certain door, [883] which forms the oneconnection. Governess and children hardly go out at all, except into thegarden. Henderson never by any chance walks alone. His dark secretary islike his shadow. The gossip among the servants is that their master isterribly afraid of something. 'Sold his soul to the devil in exchange formoney,' says Warner, 'and expects his creditor to come up and claim his own.' Where they came from, or who they are, nobody has an idea. Theyare very violent. Twice Henderson has lashed at folk with his dog-whip,and only his long purse and heavy compensation have kept him out of thecourts."Well, now, Watson, let us judge the situation by this new information.We may take it that the letter came out of this strange household and wasan invitation to Garcia to carry out some attempt which had already beenplanned. Who wrote the note? It was someone within the citadel, and itwas a woman. Who then but Miss Burnet, the governess? All ourreasoning seems to point that way. At any rate, we may take it as ahypothesis and see what consequences it would entail. I may add thatMiss Burnet's age and character make it certain that my first idea thatthere might be a love interest in our story is out of the question."If she wrote the note she was presumably the friend and confederate ofGarcia. What, then, might she be expected to do if she heard of his death?If he met it in some nefarious enterprise her lips might be sealed. Still, inher heart, she must retain bitterness and hatred against those who hadkilled him and would presumably help so far as she could to have revengeupon them. Could we see her, then, and try to use her? That was my firstthought. But now we come to a sinister fact. Miss Burnet has not beenseen by any human eye since the night of the murder. From that eveningshe has utterly vanished. Is she alive? Has she perhaps met her end on thesame night as the friend whom she had summoned? Or is she merely aprisoner? There is the point which we still have to decide."You will appreciate the difficulty of the situation, Watson. There isnothing upon which we can apply for a warrant. Our whole scheme mightseem fantastic if laid before a magistrate. The woman's disappearancecounts for nothing, since in that extraordinary household any member ofit might be invisible for a week. And yet she may at the present momentbe in danger of her life. All I can do is to watch the house and leave myagent, Warner, on guard at the gates. We can't let such a situationcontinue. If the law can do nothing we must take the risk ourselves.""What do you suggest?""I know which is her room. It is accessible from the top of an outhouse.My suggestion is that you and I go to-night and see if we can strike at thevery heart of the mystery."It was not, I must confess, a very alluring prospect. The old house withits atmosphere of murder, the singular and formidable inhabitants, theunknown dangers of the approach, and the fact that we were puttingourselves legally in a false position all combined to damp my ardour. Butthere was something in the ice-cold reasoning of Holmes which made itimpossible to shrink from any adventure which he might recommend.One knew that thus, and only thus, could a solution be found. I claspedhis hand in silence, and the die was cast.But it was not destined that our investigation should have soadventurous an ending. It was about five o'clock, and the shadows of theMarch evening were beginning to fall, when an excited rustic rushed intoour room."They've gone, Mr. Holmes. They went by the last train. The lady broke away, and I've got her in a cab downstairs."[884] "Excellent, Warner!" cried Holmes, springing to his feet."Watson, the gaps are closing rapidly."In the cab was a woman, half-collapsed from nervous exhaustion. Shebore upon her aquiline and emaciated face the traces of some recenttragedy. Her head hung listlessly upon her breast, but as she raised it andturned her dull eyes upon us I saw that her pupils were dark dots in thecentre of the broad gray iris. She was drugged with opium."I watched at the gate, same as you advised, Mr. Holmes," said ouremissary, the discharged gardener. "When the carriage came out Ifollowed it to the station. She was like one walking in her sleep, but whenthey tried to get her into the train she came to life and struggled. Theypushed her into the carriage. She fought her way out again. I took herpart, got her into a cab, and here we are. I shan't forget the face at thecarriage window as I led her away. I'd have a short life if he had hisway-the black-eyed, scowling, yellow devil."We carried her upstairs, laid her on the sofa, and a couple of cups of thestrongest coffee soon cleared her brain from the mists of the drug. Bayneshad been summoned by Holmes, and the situation rapidly explained tohim."Why, sir, you've got me the very evidence I want," said the inspectorwarmly, shaking my friend by the hand. "I was on the same scent as youfrom the first.""What! You were after Henderson?""Why, Mr. Holmes, when you were crawling in the shrubbery at HighGable I was up one of the trees in the plantation and saw you down below. It was just who would get his evidence first.""Then why did you arrest the mulatto?"Baynes chuckled."I was sure Henderson, as he calls himself, felt that he was suspected,and that he would lie low and make no move so long as he thought he wasin any danger. I arrested the wrong man to make him believe that our eyeswere off him. I knew he would be likely to clear off then and give us achance of getting at Miss Burnet."Holmes laid his hand upon the inspector's shoulder."You will rise high in your profession. You have instinct and intuition,"said he.Baynes flushed with pleasure."I've had a plain-clothes man waiting at the station all the week.Wherever the High Gable folk go he will keep them in sight. But he musthave been hard put to it when Miss Burnet broke away. However, yourman picked her up, and it all ends well. We can't arrest without herevidence, that is clear, so the sooner we get a statement the better.""Every minute she gets stronger," said Holmes, glancing at thegoverness. "But tell me, Baynes, who is this man Henderson?""Henderson," the inspector answered, "is Don Murillo, once called theTiger of San Pedro."The Tiger of San Pedro! The whole history of the man came back to mein a flash. He had made his name as the most lewd and bloodthirsty tyrantthat had ever governed any country with a pretence to civilization. Strong,fearless, and energetic, he had sufficient virtue to enable him to imposehis odious vices upon a cowering people for ten or twelve years. Hisname was a terror through all Central America. At the end of that timethere was a universal rising against him. But he was as cunning as he wascruel, and at the first whisper of coming trouble he had secretly conveyedhis treasures aboard a ship which was manned by devoted [885] adherents.It was an empty palace which was stormed by the insurgents next day.The dictator, his two children, his secretary, and his wealth had allescaped them. From that moment he had vanished from the world, and hisidentity had been a frequent subject for comment in the European press."Yes, sir, Don Murillo, the Tiger of San Pedro," said Baynes. "If youlook it up you will find that the San Pedro colours are green and white,same as in the note, Mr. Holmes. Henderson he called himself, but Itraced him back, Paris and Rome and Madrid to Barcelona, where his shipcame in in '86. They've been looking for him all the time for theirrevenge, but it is only now that they have begun to find him out.""They discovered him a year ago," said Miss Burnet, who had sat upand was now intently following the conversation. "Once already his lifehas been attempted, but some evil spirit shielded him. Now, again, it isthe noble, chivalrous Garcia who has fallen, while the monster goes safe.But another will come, and yet another, until some day justice will bedone; that is as certain as the rise of to-morrow's sun." Her thin handsclenched, and her worn face blanched with the passion of her hatred."But how come you into this matter, Miss Burnet?" asked Holmes."How can an English lady join in such a murderous affair?" "I join in it because there is no other way in the world by which justicecan be gained. What does the law of England care for the rivers of bloodshed years ago in San Pedro, or for the shipload of treasure which thisman has stolen? To you they are like crimes committed in some otherplanet. But we know. We have learned the truth in sorrow and insuffering. To us there is no fiend in hell like Juan Murillo, and no peace inlife while his victims still cry for vengeance.""No doubt," said Holmes, "he was as you say. I have heard that he wasatrocious. But how are you affected?""I will tell you it all. This villain's policy was to murder, on one pretextor another, every man who showed such promise that he might in timecome to be a dangerous rival. My husband-yes, my real name is SignoraVictor Durando-was the San Pedro minister in London. He met me andmarried me there. A nobler man never lived upon earth. Unhappily,Murillo heard of his excellence, recalled him on some pretext, and hadhim shot. With a premonition of his fate he had refused to take me withhim. His estates were confiscated, and I was left with a pittance and abroken heart."Then came the downfall of the tyrant. He escaped as you have justdescribed. But the many whose lives he had ruined, whose nearest anddearest had suffered torture and death at his hands, would not let thematter rest. They banded themselves into a society which should never bedissolved until the work was done. It was my part after we had discoveredin the transformed Henderson the fallen despot, to attach myself to hishousehold and keep the others in touch with his movements. This I wasable to do by securing the position of governess in his family. He littleknew that the woman who faced him at every meal was the woman whosehusband he had hurried at an hour's notice into eternity. I smiled on him,did my duty to his children, and bided my time. An attempt was made inParis and failed. We zig-zagged swiftly here and there over Europe tothrow off the pursuers and finally returned to this house, which he hadtaken upon his first arrival in England."But here also the ministers of justice were waiting. Knowing that hewould [886] return there, Garcia, who is the son of the former highestdignitary in San Pedro, was waiting with two trusty companions ofhumble station, all three fired with the same reasons for revenge. Hecould do little during the day, for Murillo took every precaution and neverwent out save with his satellite Lucas, or Lopez as he was known in thedays of his greatness. At night, however, he slept alone, and the avengermight find him. On a certain evening, which had been prearranged, I sentmy friend final instructions, for the man was forever on the alert andcontinually changed his room. I was to see that the doors were open andthe signal of a green or white light in a window which faced the drive wasto give notice if all was safe or if the attempt had better be postponed."But everything went wrong with us. In some way I had excited thesuspicion of Lopez, the secretary. He crept up behind me and sprang uponme just as I had finished the note. He and his master dragged me to myroom and held judgment upon me as a convicted traitress. Then and therethey would have plunged their knives into me could they have seen howto escape the consequences of the deed. Finally, after much debate, theyconcluded that my murder was too dangerous. But they determined to getrid forever of Garcia. They had gagged me, and Murillo twisted my armround until I gave him the address. I swear that he might have twisted itoff had I understood what it would mean to Garcia. Lopez addressed thenote which I had written, sealed it with his sleeve-link, and sent it by thehand of the servant, Jose. How they murdered him I do not know, savethat it was Murillo's hand who struck him down, for Lopez had remainedto guard me. I believe he must have waited among the gorse bushesthrough which the path winds and struck him down as he passed. At firstthey were of a mind to let him enter the house and to kill him as adetected burglar; but they argued that if they were mixed up in an inquirytheir own identity would at once be publicly disclosed and they would beopen to further attacks. With the death of Garcia, the pursuit might cease,since such a death might frighten others from the task."All would now have been well for them had it not been for myknowledge of what they had done. I have no doubt that there were timeswhen my life hung in the balance. I was confined to my room, terrorizedby the most horrible threats, cruelly ill-used to break my spirit-see thisstab on my shoulder and the bruises from end to end of my arms-and agag was thrust into my mouth on the one occasion when I tried to callfrom the window. For five days this cruel imprisonment continued, with hardly enough food to hold body and soul together. This afternoon a goodlunch was brought me, but the moment after I took it I knew that I hadbeen drugged. In a sort of dream I remember being half-led, half-carriedto the carriage; in the same state I was conveyed to the train. Only then,when the wheels were almost moving, did I suddenly realize that myliberty lay in my own hands. I sprang out, they tried to drag me back, andhad it not been for the help of this good man, who led me to the cab, Ishould never have broken away. Now, thank God, I am beyond theirpower forever."We had all listened intently to this remarkable statement. It wasHolmes who broke the silence."Our difficulties are not over," he remarked, shaking his head. "Ourpolice work ends, but our legal work begins.""Exactly," said I. "A plausible lawyer could make it out as an act ofself-defence. There may be a hundred crimes in the background, but it isonly on this one that they can be tried."[887] "Come, come," said Baynes cheerily, "I think better of the lawthan that. Self-defence is one thing. To entice a man in cold blood withthe object of murdering him is another, whatever danger you may fearfrom him. No, no, we shall all be justified when we see the tenants ofHigh Gable at the next Guildford Assizes."It is a matter of history, however, that a little time was still to elapsebefore the Tiger of San Pedro should meet with his deserts. Wily andbold, he and his companion threw their pursuer off their track by enteringa lodging-house in Edmonton Street and leaving by the back-gate intoCurzon Square. From that day they were seen no more in England. Somesix months afterwards the Marquess of Montalva and Signor Rulli, hissecretary, were both murdered in their rooms at the Hotel Escurial atMadrid. The crime was ascribed to Nihilism, and the murderers werenever arrested. Inspector Baynes visited us at Baker Street with a printeddescription of the dark face of the secretary, and of the masterful features,the magnetic black eyes, and the tufted brows of his master. We could notdoubt that justice, if belated, had come at last."A chaotic case, my dear Watson," said Holmes over an evening pipe."It will not be possible for you to present it in that compact form which isdear to your heart. It covers two continents, concerns two groups ofmysterious persons, and is further complicated by the highly respectablepresence of our friend, Scott Eccles, whose inclusion shows me that thedeceased Garcia had a scheming mind and a well-developed instinct ofself-preservation. It is remarkable only for the fact that amid a perfectjungle of possibilities we, with our worthy collaborator, the inspector,have kept our close hold on the essentials and so been guided along thecrooked and winding path. Is there any point which is not quite clear toyou?""The object of the mulatto cook's return?""I think that the strange creature in the kitchen may account for it. Theman was a primitive savage from the backwoods of San Pedro, and thiswas his fetish. When his companion and he had fled to some prearranged retreat- already occupied, no doubt by a confederate-the companion hadpersuaded him to leave so compromising an article of furniture. But themulatto's heart was with it, and he was driven back to it next day, when,on reconnoitring through the window, he found policeman Walters inpossession. He waited three days longer, and then his piety or hissuperstition drove him to try once more. Inspector Baynes, who, with hisusual astuteness, had minimized the incident before me, had reallyrecognized its importance and had left a trap into which the creaturewalked. Any other point, Watson?""The torn bird, the pail of blood, the charred bones, all the mystery ofthat weird kitchen?"Holmes smiled as he turned up an entry in his notebook."I spent a morning in the British Museum reading up that and otherpoints. Here is a quotation from Eckermann's Voodooism and the NegroidReligions:The true voodoo-worshipper attempts nothing of importancewithout certain sacrifices which are intended to propitiate hisunclean gods. In extreme cases these rites take the form of humansacrifices followed by cannibalism. The more usual victims are awhite cock, which is plucked in pieces alive, or a black goat,whose throat is cut and body burned."So you see our savage friend was very orthodox in his ritual. It isgrotesque, [888] Watson," Holmes added, as he slowly fastened hisnotebook, "but, as I have had occasion to remark, there is but one stepfrom the grotesque to the horrible."