Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

His Last Bow THE CARDBOARD BOX

IN CHOOSING a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mentalqualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeavoured, as far aspossible, to select those which presented the minimum of sensationalism,while offering a fair field for his talents. It is, however, unfortunatelyimpossible entirely to separate the sensational from the criminal, and achronicler is left in the dilemma that he must either sacrifice details whichare essential to his statement and so give a false impression of theproblem, or he must use matter which chance, and not choice, hasprovided him with. With this short preface I shall turn to my notes ofwhat proved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain of events.It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like an oven, andthe glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of the house acrossthe road was painful to the eye. It was hard to believe that these were thesame walls which loomed so gloomily through the fogs of winter. Ourblinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading andre-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. For myself,my term of service in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold,and a thermometer at ninety was no hardship. But the morning paper wasuninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and Iyearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. Adepleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as tomy companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightestattraction to him. He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions ofpeople, with his filaments stretching out and running through them,responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime.Appreciation of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his onlychange was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town totrack down his brother of the country.Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation I had tossedaside the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair I fell into a brownstudy. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts:"You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a most preposterousway of settling a dispute.""Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then suddenly realizing how hehad echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and staredat him in blank amazement."What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything which Icould have imagined."He laughed heartily at my perplexity."You remember," said he, "that some little time ago when I read youthe passage in one of Poe's sketches in which a close reasoner follows theunspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matteras a mere tour-de-force of the author. On my remarking that I wasconstantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity."[889] "Oh, no!""Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly withyour eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enterupon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity ofreading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had beenin rapport with you."But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which you read tome," said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of theman whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap ofstones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated quietly inmy chair, and what clues can I have given you?""You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as themeans by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithfulservants.""Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from myfeatures?""Your features and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourselfrecall how your reverie commenced?""No, I cannot.""Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was theaction which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with avacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newlyframed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in yourface that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead very far. Your eyes flashed across to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecherwhich stands upon the top of your books. Then you glanced up at thewall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that ifthe portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space andcorrespond with Gordon's picture over there.""You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed."So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts wentback to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying thecharacter in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but youcontinued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You wererecalling the incidents of Beecher's career. I was well aware that youcould not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook onbehalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember yourexpressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he wasreceived by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about itthat I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also.When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, Isuspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when Iobserved that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clenched Iwas positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which wasshown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again, your facegrew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadnessand horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your ownold wound and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that theridiculous side of this method of settling international questions hadforced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you that it waspreposterous and was glad to find that all my deductions had beencorrect.""Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have explained it, I confessthat I am as amazed as before.""It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should nothave intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulitythe other day. But I [890] have in my hands here a little problem whichmay prove to be more difficult of solution than my small essay in thoughtreading. Have you observed in the paper a short paragraph referring to theremarkable contents of a packet sent through the post to Miss Cushing, ofCross Street, Croydon?""No, I saw nothing.""Ah! then you must have overlooked it. Just toss it over to me. Here itis, under the financial column. Perhaps you would be good enough to readit aloud."I picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and read theparagraph indicated. It was headed, "A Gruesome Packet.""Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon, has been madethe victim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revolting practicaljoke unless some more sinister meaning should prove to be attached tothe incident. At two o'clock yesterday afternoon a small packet, wrappedin brown paper, was handed in by the postman. A cardboard box wasinside, which was filled with coarse salt. On emptying this, Miss Cushingwas horrified to find two human ears, apparently quite freshly severed.The box had been sent by parcel post from Belfast upon the morningbefore. There is no indication as to the sender, and the matter is the moremysterious as Miss Cushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a mostretired life, and has so few acquaintances or correspondents that it is arare event for her to receive anything through the post. Some years ago,however, when she resided at Penge, she let apartments in her house tothree young medical students, whom she was obliged to get rid of onaccount of their noisy and irregular habits. The police are of opinion thatthis outrage may have been perpetrated upon Miss Cushing by theseyouths, who owed her a grudge and who hoped to frighten her by sendingher these relics of the dissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent to thetheory by the fact that one of these students came from the north ofIreland, and, to the best of Miss Cushing's belief, from Belfast. In themeantime, the matter is being actively investigated, Mr. Lestrade, one ofthe very smartest of our detective officers, being in charge of the case.""So much for the Daily Chronicle," said Holmes as I finished reading. "Nowfor our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him this morning, in which he says:"I think that this case is very much in your line. We have every hope ofclearing the matter up, but we find a little difficulty in getting anything towork upon. We have, of course, wired to the Belfast post-office, but alarge number of parcels were handed in upon that day, and they have nomeans of identifying this particular one, or of remembering the sender.The box is a half-pound box of honeydew tobacco and does not help us inany way. The medical student theory still appears to me to be the mostfeasible, but if you should have a few hours to spare I should be veryhappy to see you out here. I shall be either at the house or in the policestation all day.What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat and run down toCroydon with me on the off chance of a case for your annals?""I was longing for something to do.""You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and tell them to order a cab. I'll beback in a moment when I have changed my dressing-gown and filled my cigarcase."A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat was far less [891]oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had sent on a wire, so that Lestrade,as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as ever, was waiting for us at the station. Awalk of five minutes took us to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing resided.It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and prim, withwhitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women gossiping at the doors.Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and tapped at a door, which was opened by asmall servant girl. Miss Cushing was sitting in the front room, into which we were ushered. She was a placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes, andgrizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side. A workedantimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of coloured silks stood upon a stoolbeside her."They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things," said she as Lestrade entered."I wish that you would take them away altogether.""So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my friend, Mr. Holmes,should have seen them in your presence.""Why in my presence, sir?""In case he wished to ask any questions.""What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I know nothingwhatever about it?""Quite so, madam," said Holmes in his soothing way. "I have no doubt thatyou have been annoyed more than enough already over this business.""Indeed, I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life. It is somethingnew for me to see my name in the papers and to find the police in my house. Iwon't have those things in here, Mr. Lestrade. If you wish to see them you mustgo to the outhouse."It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the house. Lestradewent in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece of brown paperand some string. There was a bench at the end of the path, and we all sat downwhile Holmes examined, one by one, the articles which Lestrade had handed tohim."The string is exceedingly interesting," he remarked, holding it up to the lightand sniffing at it. "What do you make of this string, Lestrade?""It has been tarred.""Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt, remarked thatMiss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be seen by the double frayon each side. This is of importance.""I cannot see the importance," said Lestrade."The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and that this knot isof a peculiar character.""It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note to that effect," said Lestradecomplacently."So much for the string, then," said Holmes, smiling, "now for the boxwrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did you not observeit? I think there can be no doubt of it. Address printed in rather stragglingcharacters: 'Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street, Croydon.' Done with a broad-pointedpen, probably a J, and with very inferior ink. The word 'Croydon' has beenoriginally spelled with an 'i,' which has been changed to 'y.' The parcel wasdirected, then, by a man-the printing is distinctly masculine- of limitededucation and unacquainted with the town of Croydon. So far, so good! The boxis a yellow, half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two thumbmarks at the left bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of the quality used forpreserving hides and other of the [892] coarser commercial purposes. Andembedded in it are these very singular enclosures."He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across his knee heexamined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forward on each side ofhim, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics and at the thoughtful, eager faceof our companion. Finally he returned them to the box once more and sat for awhile in deep meditation."You have observed, of course," said he at last, "that the ears are not a pair.""Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of some studentsfrom the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to send two odd ears as apair.""Precisely. But this is not a practical joke.""You are sure of it?""The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the dissecting-rooms areinjected with preservative fluid. These ears bear no signs of this. They are fresh, too. They have been cut off with a blunt instrument, which would hardly happenif a student had done it. Again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be thepreservatives which would suggest themselves to the medical mind, certainly notrough salt. I repeat that there is no practical joke here, but that we areinvestigating a serious crime."A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion's words and sawthe stern gravity which had hardened his features. This brutal preliminaryseemed to shadow forth some strange and inexplicable horror in the background.Lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who is only half convinced."There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt," said he, "but there aremuch stronger reasons against the other. We know that this woman has led amost quiet and respectable life at Penge and here for the last twenty years. Shehas hardly been away from her home for a day during that time. Why on earth,then, should any criminal send her the proofs of his guilt, especially as, unlessshe is a most consummate actress, she understands quite as little of the matter aswe do?""That is the problem which we have to solve," Holmes answered, "and for mypart I shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct, and that adouble murder has been committed. One of these ears is a woman's, small,finely formed, and pierced for an earring. The other is a man's, sun-burned,discoloured, and also pierced for an earring. These two people are presumablydead, or we should have heard their story before now. To-day is Friday. Thepacket was posted on Thursday morning. The tragedy, then, occurred onWednesday or Tuesday, or earlier. If the two people were murdered, who buttheir murderer would have sent this sign of his work to Miss Cushing? We maytake it that the sender of the packet is the man whom we want. But he must havesome strong reason for sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then? Itmust have been to tell her that the deed was done! or to pain her, perhaps. But inthat case she knows who it is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she knew, whyshould she call the police in? She might have buried the ears, and no one wouldhave been the wiser. That is what she would have done if she had wished toshield the criminal. But if she does not wish to shield him she would give hisname. There is a tangle here which needs straightening out." He had been talkingin a high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now hesprang briskly to his feet and walked towards the house.[893] "I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing," said he."In that case I may leave you here," said Lestrade, "for I have another smallbusiness on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learn from Miss Cushing.You will find me at the police-station.""We shall look in on our way to the train," answered Holmes. A moment laterhe and I were back in the front room, where the impassive lady was still quietlyworking away at her antimacassar. She put it down on her lap as we entered andlooked at us with her frank, searching blue eyes."I am convinced, sir," she said, "that this matter is a mistake, and that theparcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this several times to thegentleman from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs at me. I have not an enemyin the world, as far as I know, so why should anyone play me such a trick?""I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing," said Holmes, taking aseat beside her. "I think that it is more than probable- -" he paused, and I wassurprised, on glancing round to see that he was staring with singular intentness atthe lady's profile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to be readupon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever. I stared hard myself at her flat,grizzled hair, her trim cap, her little gilt earrings, her placid features; but I couldsee nothing which could account for my companion's evident excitement."There were one or two questions- -""Oh, I am weary of questions!" cried Miss Cushing impatiently."You have two sisters, I believe.""How could you know that?""I observed the very instant that I entered the room that you have a portraitgroup of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one of whom is undoubtedlyyourself, while the others are so exceedingly like you that there could be nodoubt of the relationship.""Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary.""And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of your youngersister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by his uniform. Iobserve that she was unmarried at the time.""You are very quick at observing.""That is my trade.""Well, you are quite right. But she was married to Mr. Browner a few daysafterwards. He was on the South American line when that was taken, but he wasso fond of her that he couldn't abide to leave her for so long, and he got into theLiverpool and London boats.""Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?""No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me once.That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would always take drinkwhen he was ashore, and a little drink would send him stark, staring mad. Ah! itwas a bad day that ever he took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped me,then he quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing we don'tknow how things are going with them."It was evident that Miss Cushing had come upon a subject on which she feltvery deeply. Like most people who lead a lonely life, she was shy at first, butended by becoming extremely communicative. She told us many details abouther brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of her former lodgers, [894] the medical students, she gave us a long account of theirdelinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals. Holmes listenedattentively to everything, throwing in a question from time to time."About your second sister, Sarah," said he. "I wonder, since you are bothmaiden ladies, that you do not keep house together.""Ah! you don't know Sarah's temper or you would wonder no more. I tried itwhen I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago, when wehad to part. I don't want to say a word against my own sister, but she was alwaysmeddlesome and hard to please, was Sarah.""You say that she quarrelled with your Liverpool relations.""Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she went up there tolive in order to be near them. And now she has no word hard enough for JimBrowner. The last six months that she was here she would speak of nothing buthis drinking and his ways. He had caught her meddling, I suspect, and given hera bit of his mind, and that was the start of it.""Thank you, Miss Cushing," said Holmes, rising and bowing. "Your sisterSarah lives, I think you said, at New Street, Wallington? Good-bye, and I amvery sorry that you should have been troubled over a case with which, as yousay, you have nothing whatever to do."There was a cab passing as we came out, and Holmes hailed it."How far to Wallington?" he asked."Only about a mile, sir.""Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike while the iron is hot. Simple asthe case is, there have been one or two very instructive details in connection withit. Just pull up at a telegraph office as you pass, cabby."Holmes sent off a short wire and for the rest of the drive lay back in the cab,with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sun from his face. Our driver pulledup at a house which was not unlike the one which we had just quitted. Mycompanion ordered him to wait, and had his hand upon the knocker, when thedoor opened and a grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat,appeared on the step."Is Miss Cushing at home?" asked Holmes."Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill," said he. "She has been suffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. As her medical adviser, Icannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone to see her. I shouldrecommend you to call again in ten days." He drew on his gloves, closed thedoor, and marched off down the street."Well, if we can't we can't," said Holmes, cheerfully."Perhaps she could not or would not have told you much.""I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look at her. However,I think that I have got all that I want. Drive us to some decent hotel, cabby,where we may have some lunch, and afterwards we shall drop down upon friendLestrade at the police-station."We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk aboutnothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had purchased hisown Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jewbroker's in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five shillings. This led him toPaganini, and we sat for an hour over a bottle of claret while he told me anecdoteafter anecdote of that extraordinary man. The afternoon was far advanced andthe hot glare had [895] softened into a mellow glow before we found ourselves atthe police-station. Lestrade was waiting for us at the door."A telegram for you, Mr. Holmes," said he."Ha! It is the answer!" He tore it open, glanced his eyes over it, and crumpledit into his pocket. "That's all right," said he."Have you found out anything?""I have found out everything!""What!" Lestrade stared at him in amazement. "You are joking.""I was never more serious in my life. A shocking crime has been committed,and I think I have now laid bare every detail of it.""And the criminal?"Holmes scribbled a few words upon the back of one of his visiting cards andthrew it over to Lestrade."That is the name," he said. "You cannot effect an arrest until to-morrow nightat the earliest. I should prefer that you do not mention my name at all inconnection with the case, as I choose to be only associated with those crimeswhich present some difficulty in their solution. Come on, Watson." We strodeoff together to the station, leaving Lestrade still staring with a delighted face atthe card which Holmes had thrown him."The case," said Sherlock Holmes as we chatted over our cigars that night inour rooms at Baker Street, "is one where, as in the investigations which you havechronicled under the names of 'A Study in Scarlet' and of 'The Sign of Four,'we have been compelled to reason backward from effects to causes. I havewritten to Lestrade asking him to supply us with the details which are nowwanting, and which he will only get after he has secured his man. That he maybe safely trusted to do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is astenacious as a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do, and, indeed,it is just this tenacity which has brought him to the top at Scotland Yard.""Your case is not complete, then?" I asked."It is fairly complete in essentials. We know who the author of the revoltingbusiness is, although one of the victims still escapes us. Of course, you haveformed your own conclusions.""I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpool boat, is the manwhom you suspect?""Oh! it is more than a suspicion." "And yet I cannot see anything save very vague indications.""On the contrary, to my mind nothing could be more clear. Let me run overthe principal steps. We approached the case, you remember, with an absolutelyblank mind, which is always an advantage. We had formed no theories. We weresimply there to observe and to draw inferences from our observations. What didwe see first? A very placid and respectable lady, who seemed quite innocent ofany secret, and a portrait which showed me that she had two younger sisters. Itinstantly flashed across my mind that the box might have been meant for one ofthese. I set the idea aside as one which could be disproved or confirmed at ourleisure. Then we went to the garden, as you remember, and we saw the verysingular contents of the little yellow box."The string was of the quality which is used by sailmakers aboard ship, and atonce a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our investigation. When I observed[896] that the knot was one which is popular with sailors, that the parcel had beenposted at a port, and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is somuch more common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain that all theactors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes."When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was toMiss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, andalthough her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In thatcase we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basisaltogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up thispoint. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistakehad been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The factwas that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the sametime narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely."As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the bodywhich varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive anddiffers from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will findtwo short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examinedthe ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted theiranatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at MissCushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear whichI had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was thesame shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the sameconvolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear."Of course I at once saw the enormous importance of the observation. It wasevident that the victim was a blood relation, and probably a very close one. Ibegan to talk to her about her family, and you remember that she at once gave ussome exceedingly valuable details."In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had untilrecently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake hadoccurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward,married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimatewith Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near theBrowners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stopto all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion toaddress a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her oldaddress."And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We hadlearned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions-you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth inorder to be nearer to his wife-subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking.We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that aman-presumably a seafaring man-had been murdered at the same time.Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And whyshould these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probablybecause during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing aboutthe events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats callsat Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner hadcommitted the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day,Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet."A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although Ithought [897] it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it beforegoing further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner,and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many graveobjections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram tomy friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs.Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then wewent on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah."I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had beenreproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very importantinformation, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of thebusiness the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alonecould have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willingto help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the newsof the arrival of the packet-for her illness dated from that time-had such aneffect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that sheunderstood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to waitsome time for any assistance from her."However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waitingfor us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothingcould be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more thanthree days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see herrelatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had leftaboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames to-morrownight. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and Ihave no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in."Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later hereceived a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, anda typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap."Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps itwould interest you to hear what he says."MY DEAR MR. HOLMES:"In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to testour theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went downto the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 P.M., and boarded the S. S. May Day,belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company.On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name ofJames Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such anextraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve himof his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chestwith his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is abig, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy-something likeAldridge, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up whenhe heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple ofriver police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heartin him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. Webrought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought theremight be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as mostsailors have, we got nothing [898] for our trouble. However, we find thatwe shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before theinspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, ofcourse, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We hadthree copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as Ialways thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obligedto you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards,"Yours very truly,"G. LESTRADE."Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes,"but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However,let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as madebefore Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has theadvantage of being verbatim."" 'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a cleanbreast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plugwhich you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don'tbelieve I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, butmost generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looksfrowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, thewhite lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that hadseldom looked anything but love upon her before." 'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight onher and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. Iknow that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would haveforgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if thatwoman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me-that's theroot of the business-she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hatewhen she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I didof her whole body and soul." 'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, thesecond was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Marywas twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was longwhen we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better womanthan my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew intoa month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves." 'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and allwas as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that itcould have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? " 'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the shipwere held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way Isaw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black andquick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eyelike a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought ofher, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy." 'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or tocoax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. Butone evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found mywife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay[899] some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can'tyou be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a badcompliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short atime." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in akindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if theywere in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no needfor her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then shestood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me onthe shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, sheran out of the room." 'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and sheis a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us -abesotted fool-but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her.Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was abit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent,but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had beenand what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had inmy pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and moreirritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all.Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me,but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then Ibroke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not havedone it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgustedwith me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And thenthis Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker." 'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us,for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. Hewas a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the worldand could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, andhe had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think theremust have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For amonth he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind thatharm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made mesuspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever." 'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and asI walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as shesaw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look ofdisappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairnwhose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then Ishould have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my tempergets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with herhands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked."In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn isnever to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it.""Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am notgood enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairnshows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She wasfrightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the sameevening she left my house." 'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of thiswoman, [900] or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife byencouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off andlet lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round tohave tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but Ifollowed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over theback garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that Iwould kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me,sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace oflove between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, andwhen the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well." 'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so shewent back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things joggedon much the same as ever at home. And then came this last week and all themisery and ruin." 'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage ofseven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that wehad to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home,thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe shewould be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned intomy own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting bythe side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath." 'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was notmy own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had beendrinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There'ssomething throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morningI seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears." 'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick inmy hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too,and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at therailway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quiteclose to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I,but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked alongthe Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I sawthem hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought,no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water." 'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of ahaze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat formyself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they weregoing nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shorebefore I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there werewe three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when theysaw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. Heswore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen deathin my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head likean egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw herarms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, andshe lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. IfSarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out myknife, [901] and-well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joywhen I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of whather meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove aplank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. Icleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having asuspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for SarahCushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast." 'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you likewith me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannotshut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me-staring at me as they staredwhen my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killingme slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead beforemorning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and mayyou be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.'"What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid downthe paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear?It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which isunthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem towhich human reason is as far from an answer as ever."