Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

His Last Bow THE DISAPPEARANCE OF LADY FRANCES CARFAX

"BUT why Turkish?" asked Mr. Sherlock Holmes, gazing fixedly at myboots. I was reclining in a cane-backed chair at the moment, and myprotruded feet had attracted his ever-active attention."English," I answered in some surprise. "I got them at Latimer's, inOxford Street."Holmes smiled with an expression of weary patience."The bath!" he said; "the bath! Why the relaxing and expensive Turkishrather than the invigorating home-made article?""Because for the last few days I have been feeling rheumatic and old. ATurkish bath is what we call an alterative in medicine-a fresh startingpoint, a cleanser of the system."By the way, Holmes," I added, "I have no doubt the connectionbetween my boots and a Turkish bath is a perfectly self-evident one to alogical mind, and yet I should be obliged to you if you would indicate it.""The train of reasoning is not very obscure, Watson," said Holmes witha mischievous twinkle. "It belongs to the same elementary class ofdeduction which I should illustrate if I were to ask you who shared yourcab in your drive this morning.""I don't admit that a fresh illustration is an explanation," said I withsome asperity."Bravo, Watson! A very dignified and logical remonstrance. Let mesee, what were the points? Take the last one first-the cab. You observethat you have some splashes on the left sleeve and shoulder of your coat.Had you sat in the centre of a hansom you would probably have had nosplashes, and if you had they would certainly have been symmetrical.Therefore it is clear that you sat at the side. Therefore it is equally clearthat you had a companion.""That is very evident.""Absurdly commonplace, is it not?""But the boots and the bath?""Equally childish. You are in the habit of doing up your boots in acertain way. I see them on this occasion fastened with an elaborate doublebow, which is not your usual method of tying them. You have, therefore,had them off. Who has tied them? A bootmaker-or the boy at the bath. Itis unlikely that it is the bootmaker, since your boots are nearly new. Well,what remains? The bath. Absurd, is it not? But, for all that, the Turkishbath has served a purpose.""What is that?""You say that you have had it because you need a change. Let mesuggest that you take one. How would Lausanne do, my dearWatson-first-class tickets and all expenses paid on a princely scale?" "Splendid! But why?"Holmes leaned back in his armchair and took his notebook from hispocket."One of the most dangerous classes in the world," said he, "is thedrifting and friendless woman. She is the most harmless and often themost useful of mortals, [943] but she is the inevitable inciter of crime inothers. She is helpless. She is migratory. She has sufficient means to takeher from country to country and from hotel to hotel. She is lost, as oftenas not, in a maze of obscure pensions and boarding-houses. She is a straychicken in a world of foxes. When she is gobbled up she is hardly missed.I much fear that some evil has come to the Lady Frances Carfax."I was relieved at this sudden descent from the general to the particular.Holmes consulted his notes."Lady Frances," he continued, "is the sole survivor of the direct familyof the late Earl of Rufton. The estates went, as you may remember, in themale line. She was left with limited means, but with some veryremarkable old Spanish jewellery of silver and curiously cut diamonds towhich she was fondly attached-too attached, for she refused to leave themwith her banker and always carried them about with her. A rather patheticfigure, the Lady Frances, a beautiful woman, still in fresh middle age, andyet, by a strange chance, the last derelict of what only twenty years agowas a goodly fleet.""What has happened to her, then?""Ah, what has happened to the Lady Frances? Is she alive or dead?There is our problem. She is a lady of precise habits, and for four years ithas been her invariable custom to write every second week to MissDobney, her old governess, who has long retired and lives in Camberwell.It is this Miss Dobney who has consulted me. Nearly five weeks havepassed without a word. The last letter was from the Hotel National atLausanne. Lady Frances seems to have left there and given no address.The family are anxious, and as they are exceedingly wealthy no sum willbe spared if we can clear the matter up.""Is Miss Dobney the only source of information? Surely she had othercorrespondents?""There is one correspondent who is a sure draw, Watson. That is thebank. Single ladies must live, and their passbooks are compressed diaries.She banks at Silvester's. I have glanced over her account. The last checkbut one paid her bill at Lausanne, but it was a large one and probably lefther with cash in hand. Only one check has been drawn since.""To whom, and where?""To Miss Marie Devine. There is nothing to show where the check wasdrawn. It was cashed at the Crédit Lyonnais at Montpellier less than threeweeks ago. The sum was fifty pounds.""And who is Miss Marie Devine?""That also I have been able to discover. Miss Marie Devine was themaid of Lady Frances Carfax. Why she should have paid her this checkwe have not yet determined. I have no doubt, however, that yourresearches will soon clear the matter up.""My researches!" "Hence the health-giving expedition to Lausanne. You know that Icannot possibly leave London while old Abrahams is in such mortal terrorof his life. Besides, on general principles it is best that I should not leavethe country. Scotland Yard feels lonely without me, and it causes anunhealthy excitement among the criminal classes. Go, then, my dearWatson, and if my humble counsel can ever be valued at so extravagant arate as two pence a word, it waits your disposal night and day at the endof the Continental wire."[944] Two days later found me at the Hôtel National at Lausanne, whereI received every courtesy at the hands of M. Moser, the well-knownmanager. Lady Frances, as he informed me, had stayed there for severalweeks. She had been much liked by all who met her. Her age was notmore than forty. She was still handsome and bore every sign of having inher youth been a very lovely woman. M. Moser knew nothing of anyvaluable jewellery, but it had been remarked by the servants that theheavy trunk in the lady's bedroom was always scrupulously locked. MarieDevine, the maid, was as popular as her mistress. She was actuallyengaged to one of the head waiters in the hotel, and there was nodifficulty in getting her address. It was 11 Rue de Trajan, Montpellier. Allthis I jotted down and felt that Holmes himself could not have been moreadroit in collecting his facts.Only one corner still remained in the shadow. No light which Ipossessed could clear up the cause for the lady's sudden departure. Shewas very happy at Lausanne. There was every reason to believe that sheintended to remain for the season in her luxurious rooms overlooking thelake. And yet she had left at a single day's notice, which involved her inthe useless payment of a week's rent. Only Jules Vibart, the lover of themaid, had any suggestion to offer. He connected the sudden departurewith the visit to the hotel a day or two before of a tall, dark, bearded man."Un sauvage-un véritable sauvage!" cried Jules Vibart. The man hadrooms somewhere in the town. He had been seen talking earnestly toMadame on the promenade by the lake. Then he had called. She hadrefused to see him. He was English, but of his name there was no record.Madame had left the place immediately afterwards. Jules Vibart, and,what was of more importance, Jules Vibart's sweetheart, thought that thiscall and this departure were cause and effect. Only one thing Jules wouldnot discuss. That was the reason why Marie had left her mistress. Of thathe could or would say nothing. If I wished to know, I must go toMontpellier and ask her.So ended the first chapter of my inquiry. The second was devoted to theplace which Lady Frances Carfax had sought when she left Lausanne.Concerning this there had been some secrecy, which confirmed the ideathat she had gone with the intention of throwing someone off her track.Otherwise why should not her luggage have been openly labelled forBaden? Both she and it reached the Rhenish spa by some circuitous route.This much I gathered from the manager of Cook's local office. So toBaden I went, after dispatching to Holmes an account of all myproceedings and receiving in reply a telegram of half-humorouscommendation. At Baden the track was not difficult to follow. Lady Frances had stayedat the Englischer Hof for a fortnight. While there she had made theacquaintance of a Dr. Shlessinger and his wife, a missionary from SouthAmerica. Like most lonely ladies, Lady Frances found her comfort andoccupation in religion. Dr. Shlessinger's remarkable personality, hiswhole-hearted devotion, and the fact that he was recovering from adisease contracted in the exercise of his apostolic duties affected herdeeply. She had helped Mrs. Shlessinger in the nursing of theconvalescent saint. He spent his day, as the manager described it to me,upon a lounge-chair on the veranda, with an attendant lady upon eitherside of him. He was preparing a map of the Holy Land, with specialreference to the kingdom of the Midianites, upon which he was writing amonograph. Finally, having improved much in health, he and his wife hadreturned to London, and Lady Frances had started thither in theircompany. This was just three weeks before, and the manager had heardnothing since. As to the maid, Marie, she had gone off some days [945]beforehand in floods of tears, after informing the other maids that she wasleaving service forever. Dr. Shlessinger had paid the bill of the wholeparty before his departure."By the way," said the landlord in conclusion, "you are not the onlyfriend of Lady Frances Carfax who is inquiring after her just now. Only aweek or so ago we had a man here upon the same errand.""Did he give a name?" I asked."None; but he was an Englishman, though of an unusual type.""A savage?" said I, linking my facts after the fashion of my illustriousfriend."Exactly. That describes him very well. He is a bulky, bearded,sunburned fellow, who looks as if he would be more at home in afarmers' inn than in a fashionable hotel. A hard, fierce man, I shouldthink, and one whom I should be sorry to offend."Already the mystery began to define itself, as figures grow clearer withthe lifting of a fog. Here was this good and pious lady pursued from placeto place by a sinister and unrelenting figure. She feared him, or she wouldnot have fled from Lausanne. He had still followed. Sooner or later he would overtake her. Had he already overtaken her? Was that the secret ofher continued silence? Could the good people who were her companionsnot screen her from his violence or his blackmail? What horrible purpose,what deep design, lay behind this long pursuit? There was the problemwhich I had to solve.To Holmes I wrote showing how rapidly and surely I had got down tothe roots of the matter. In reply I had a telegram asking for a descriptionof Dr. Shlessinger's left ear. Holmes's ideas of humour are strange andoccasionally offensive, so I took no notice of his ill-timed jest-indeed, Ihad already reached Montpellier in my pursuit of the maid, Marie, beforehis message came.I had no difficulty in finding the ex-servant and in learning all that shecould tell me. She was a devoted creature, who had only left her mistressbecause she was sure that she was in good hands, and because her ownapproaching marriage made a separation inevitable in any case. Hermistress had, as she confessed with distress, shown some irritability oftemper towards her during their stay in Baden, and had even questionedher once as if she had suspicions of her honesty, and this had made theparting easier than it would otherwise have been. Lady Frances had givenher fifty pounds as a wedding-present. Like me, Marie viewed with deepdistrust the stranger who had driven her mistress from Lausanne. With herown eyes she had seen him seize the lady's wrist with great violence onthe public promenade by the lake. He was a fierce and terrible man. Shebelieved that it was out of dread of him that Lady Frances had acceptedthe escort of the Shlessingers to London. She had never spoken to Marieabout it, but many little signs had convinced the maid that her mistresslived in a state of continual nervous apprehension. So far she had got inher narrative, when suddenly she sprang from her chair and her face wasconvulsed with surprise and fear. "See!" she cried. "The miscreantfollows still! There is the very man of whom I speak."Through the open sitting-room window I saw a huge, swarthy man witha bristling black beard walking slowly down the centre of the street andstaring eagerly at the numbers of the houses. It was clear that, like myself,he was on the track of the maid. Acting upon the impulse of the moment,I rushed out and accosted him."You are an Englishman," I said."What if I am?" he asked with a most villainous scowl.[946] "May I ask what your name is?""No, you may not," said he with decision.The situation was awkward, but the most direct way is often the best."Where is the Lady Frances Carfax?" I asked.He stared at me in amazement."What have you done with her? Why have you pursued her? I insistupon an answer!" said I.The fellow gave a bellow of anger and sprang upon me like a tiger. Ihave held my own in many a struggle, but the man had a grip of iron andthe fury of a fiend. His hand was on my throat and my senses were nearlygone before an unshaven French ouvrier in a blue blouse darted out froma cabaret opposite, with a cudgel in his hand, and struck my assailant asharp crack over the forearm, which made him leave go his hold. Hestood for an instant fuming with rage and uncertain whether he should notrenew his attack. Then, with a snarl of anger, he left me and entered thecottage from which I had just come. I turned to thank my preserver, whostood beside me in the roadway."Well, Watson," said he, "a very pretty hash you have made of it! Irather think you had better come back with me to London by the nightexpress."An hour afterwards, Sherlock Holmes, in his usual garb and style, wasseated in my private room at the hotel. His explanation of his sudden andopportune appearance was simplicity itself, for, finding that he could getaway from London, he determined to head me off at the next obviouspoint of my travels. In the disguise of a workingman he had sat in thecabaret waiting for my appearance."And a singularly consistent investigation you have made, my dearWatson," said he. "I cannot at the moment recall any possible blunderwhich you have omitted. The total effect of your proceeding has been togive the alarm everywhere and yet to discover nothing.""Perhaps you would have done no better," I answered bitterly. "There is no 'perhaps' about it. I have done better. Here is the Hon.Philip Green, who is a fellow-lodger with you in this hotel, and we mayfind him the starting-point for a more successful investigation."A card had come up on a salver, and it was followed by the samebearded ruffian who had attacked me in the street. He started when hesaw me."What is this, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "I had your note and I havecome. But what has this man to do with the matter?""This is my old friend and associate, Dr. Watson, who is helping us inthis affair."The stranger held out a huge, sunburned hand, with a few words ofapology."I hope I didn't harm you. When you accused me of hurting her I lostmy grip of myself. Indeed, I'm not responsible in these days. My nervesare like live wires. But this situation is beyond me. What I want to know,in the first place, Mr. Holmes, is, how in the world you came to hear ofmy existence at all.""I am in touch with Miss Dobney, Lady Frances's governess.""Old Susan Dobney with the mob cap! I remember her well.""And she remembers you. It was in the days before-before you found itbetter to go to South Africa.""Ah, I see you know my whole story. I need hide nothing from you. Iswear to you, Mr. Holmes, that there never was in this world a man wholoved a woman with a more wholehearted love than I had for Frances. Iwas a wild youngster, I [947] know-not worse than others of my class. Buther mind was pure as snow. She could not bear a shadow of coarseness.So, when she came to hear of things that I had done, she would have nomore to say to me. And yet she loved me-that is the wonder of it!-lovedme well enough to remain single all her sainted days just for my sakealone. When the years had passed and I had made my money at BarbertonI thought perhaps I could seek her out and soften her. I had heard that shewas still unmarried. I found her at Lausanne and tried all I knew. Sheweakened, I think, but her will was strong, and when next I called she hadleft the town. I traced her to Baden, and then after a time heard that hermaid was here. I'm a rough fellow, fresh from a rough life, and when Dr.Watson spoke to me as he did I lost hold of myself for a moment. But forGod's sake tell me what has become of the Lady Frances.""That is for us to find out," said Sherlock Holmes with peculiar gravity."What is your London address, Mr. Green?""The Langham Hotel will find me.""Then may I recommend that you return there and be on hand in case Ishould want you? I have no desire to encourage false hopes, but you mayrest assured that all that can be done will be done for the safety of LadyFrances. I can say no more for the instant. I will leave you this card sothat you may be able to keep in touch with us. Now, Watson, if you willpack your bag I will cable to Mrs. Hudson to make one of her best effortsfor two hungry travellers at 7:30 to-morrow."A telegram was awaiting us when we reached our Baker Street rooms, which Holmes read with an exclamation of interest and threw across tome. "Jagged or torn," was the message, and the place of origin, Baden."What is this?" I asked."It is everything," Holmes answered. "You may remember myseemingly irrelevant question as to this clerical gentleman's left ear. Youdid not answer it.""I had left Baden and could not inquire.""Exactly. For this reason I sent a duplicate to the manager of theEnglischer Hof, whose answer lies here.""What does it show?""It shows, my dear Watson, that we are dealing with an exceptionallyastute and dangerous man. The Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, missionary fromSouth America, is none other than Holy Peters, one of the mostunscrupulous rascals that Australia has ever evolved-and for a youngcountry it has turned out some very finished types. His particularspecialty is the beguiling of lonely ladies by playing upon their religiousfeelings, and his so-called wife, an Englishwoman named Fraser, is aworthy helpmate. The nature of his tactics suggested his identity to me,and this physical peculiarity-he was badly bitten in a saloon-fight atAdelaide in '89-confirmed my suspicion. This poor lady is in the handsof a most infernal couple, who will stick at nothing, Watson. That she isalready dead is a very likely supposition. If not, she is undoubtedly insome sort of confinement and unable to write to Miss Dobney or her otherfriends. It is always possible that she never reached London, or that shehas passed through it, but the former is improbable, as, with their systemof registration, it is not easy for foreigners to play tricks with theContinental police; and the latter is also unlikely, as these rogues couldnot hope to find any other place where it would be as easy to keep aperson under restraint. All my instincts tell me that she is in London, butas we have at present [948] no possible means of telling where, we canonly take the obvious steps, eat our dinner, and possess our souls inpatience. Later in the evening I will stroll down and have a word withfriend Lestrade at Scotland Yard."But neither the official police nor Holmes's own small but veryefficient organization sufficed to clear away the mystery. Amid thecrowded millions of London the three persons we sought were ascompletely obliterated as if they had never lived. Advertisements weretried, and failed. Clues were followed, and led to nothing. Every criminalresort which Shlessinger might frequent was drawn in vain. His oldassociates were watched, but they kept clear of him. And then suddenly,after a week of helpless suspense there came a flash of light. A silver-andbrilliant pendant of old Spanish design had been pawned at Bovington's,in Westminster Road. The pawner was a large, clean-shaven man ofclerical appearance. His name and address were demonstrably false. Theear had escaped notice, but the description was surely that of Shlessinger.Three times had our bearded friend from the Langham called fornews-the third time within an hour of this fresh development. His clotheswere getting looser on his great body. He seemed to be wilting away inhis anxiety. "If you will only give me something to do!" was his constant wail. At last Holmes could oblige him."He has begun to pawn the jewels. We should get him now.""But does this mean that any harm has befallen the Lady Frances?"Holmes shook his head very gravely."Supposing that they have held her prisoner up to now, it is clear thatthey cannot let her loose without their own destruction. We must preparefor the worst.""What can I do?""These people do not know you by sight?""No.""It is possible that he will go to some other pawnbroker in the future. Inthat case, we must begin again. On the other hand, he has had a fair priceand no questions asked, so if he is in need of ready-money he willprobably come back to Bovington's. I will give you a note to them, andthey will let you wait in the shop. If the fellow comes you will follow himhome. But no indiscretion, and, above all, no violence. I put you on yourhonour that you will take no step without my knowledge and consent."For two days the Hon. Philip Green (he was, I may mention, the son ofthe famous admiral of that name who commanded the Sea of Azof fleet inthe Crimean War) brought us no news. On the evening of the third herushed into our sitting-room, pale, trembling, with every muscle of hispowerful frame quivering with excitement."We have him! We have him!" he cried.He was incoherent in his agitation. Holmes soothed him with a fewwords and thrust him into an armchair."Come, now, give us the order of events," said he."She came only an hour ago. It was the wife, this time, but the pendantshe brought was the fellow of the other. She is a tall, pale woman, with ferret eyes.""That is the lady," said Holmes."She left the office and I followed her. She walked up the KenningtonRoad, [949] and I kept behind her. Presently she went into a shop. Mr.Holmes, it was an undertaker's."My companion started. "Well?" he asked in that vibrant voice whichtold of the fiery soul behind the cold gray face."She was talking to the woman behind the counter. I entered as well. 'Itis late,' I heard her say, or words to that effect. The woman was excusingherself. 'It should be there before now,' she answered. 'It took longer,being out of the ordinary.' They both stopped and looked at me, so Iasked some question and then left the shop.""You did excellently well. What happened next?""The woman came out, but I had hid myself in a doorway. Hersuspicions had been aroused, I think, for she looked round her. Then shecalled a cab and got in. I was lucky enough to get another and so to followher. She got down at last at No. 36, Poultney Square, Brixton. I drovepast, left my cab at the corner of the square, and watched the house.""Did you see anyone?""The windows were all in darkness save one on the lower floor. Theblind was down, and I could not see in. I was standing there, wonderingwhat I should do next, when a covered van drove up with two men in it.They descended, took something out of the van, and carried it up the stepsto the hall door. Mr. Holmes, it was a coffin.""Ah!""For an instant I was on the point of rushing in. The door had beenopened to admit the men and their burden. It was the woman who hadopened it. But as I stood there she caught a glimpse of me, and I think thatshe recognized me. I saw her start, and she hastily closed the door. Iremembered my promise to you, and here I am.""You have done excellent work," said Holmes scribbling a few wordsupon a half-sheet of paper. "We can do nothing legal without a warrant,and you can serve the cause best by taking this note down to theauthorities and getting one. There may be some difficulty, but I shouldthink that the sale of the jewellery should be sufficient. Lestrade will seeto all details.""But they may murder her in the meanwhile. What could the coffinmean, and for whom could it be but for her?""We will do all that can be done, Mr. Green. Not a moment will be lost.Leave it in our hands. Now, Watson," he added as our client hurriedaway, "he will set the regular forces on the move. We are, as usual, theirregulars, and we must take our own line of action. The situation strikesme as so desperate that the most extreme measures are justified. Not amoment is to be lost in getting to Poultney Square."Let us try to reconstruct the situation," said he as we drove swiftlypast the Houses of Parliament and over Westminster Bridge. "Thesevillains have coaxed this unhappy lady to London, after first alienatingher from her faithful maid. If she has written any letters they have beenintercepted. Through some confederate they have engaged a furnished house. Once inside it, they have made her a prisoner, and they havebecome possessed of the valuable jewellery which has been their objectfrom the first. Already they have begun to sell part of it, which seems safeenough to them, since they have no reason to think that anyone isinterested in the lady's fate. When she is released she will, of course,denounce them. [950] Therefore, she must not be released. But they cannotkeep her under lock and key forever. So murder is their only solution.""That seems very clear.""Now we will take another line of reasoning. When you follow twoseparate chains of thought, Watson, you will find some point ofintersection which should approximate to the truth. We will start now, notfrom the lady but from the coffin and argue backward. That incidentproves, I fear, beyond all doubt that the lady is dead. It points also to anorthodox burial with proper accompaniment of medical certificate andofficial sanction. Had the lady been obviously murdered, they would haveburied her in a hole in the back garden. But here all is open and regular.What does that mean? Surely that they have done her to death in someway which has deceived the doctor and simulated a naturalend-poisoning, perhaps. And yet how strange that they should ever let adoctor approach her unless he were a confederate, which is hardly acredible proposition.""Could they have forged a medical certificate?""Dangerous, Watson, very dangerous. No, I hardly see them doing that.Pull up, cabby! This is evidently the undertaker's, for we have just passedthe pawnbroker's. Would you go in, Watson? Your appearance inspiresconfidence. Ask what hour the Poultney Square funeral takes place tomorrow."The woman in the shop answered me without hesitation that it was tobe at eight o'clock in the morning. "You see, Watson, no mystery;everything above-board! In some way the legal forms have undoubtedlybeen complied with, and they think that they have little to fear. Well,there's nothing for it now but a direct frontal attack. Are you armed?""My stick!""Well, well, we shall be strong enough. 'Thrice is he armed who hathhis quarrel just.' We simply can't afford to wait for the police or to keepwithin the four corners of the law. You can drive off, cabby. Now,Watson, we'll just take our luck together, as we have occasionally done inthe past."He had rung loudly at the door of a great dark house in the centre ofPoultney Square. It was opened immediately, and the figure of a tallwoman was outlined against the dim-lit hall."Well, what do you want?" she asked sharply, peering at us through thedarkness."I want to speak to Dr. Shlessinger," said Holmes."There is no such person here," she answered, and tried to close thedoor, but Holmes had jammed it with his foot."Well, I want to see the man who lives here, whatever he may callhimself," said Holmes firmly.She hesitated. Then she threw open the door. "Well, come in!" said she. "My husband is not afraid to face any man in the world." She closed thedoor behind us and showed us into a sitting-room on the right side of thehall, turning up the gas as she left us. "Mr. Peters will be with you in aninstant," she said.Her words were literally true, for we had hardly time to look around thedusty and moth-eaten apartment in which we found ourselves before thedoor opened and a big, clean-shaven bald-headed man stepped lightly intothe room. He had a large red face, with pendulous cheeks, and a generalair of superficial benevolence which was marred by a cruel, viciousmouth."There is surely some mistake here, gentlemen," he said in anunctuous, [951] make-everything-easy voice. "I fancy that you have beenmisdirected. Possibly if you tried farther down the street- -""That will do; we have no time to waste," said my companion firmly."You are Henry Peters, of Adelaide, late the Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, ofBaden and South America. I am as sure of that as that my own name isSherlock Holmes."Peters, as I will now call him, started and stared hard at his formidablepursuer. "I guess your name does not frighten me, Mr. Holmes," said hecoolly. "When a man's conscience is easy you can't rattle him. What isyour business in my house?""I want to know what you have done with the Lady Frances Carfax,whom you brought away with you from Baden.""I'd be very glad if you could tell me where that lady may be," Petersanswered coolly. "I've a bill against her for nearly a hundred pounds, andnothing to show for it but a couple of trumpery pendants that the dealerwould hardly look at. She attached herself to Mrs. Peters and me atBaden-it is a fact that I was using another name at the time-and she stuckon to us until we came to London. I paid her bill and her ticket. Once inLondon, she gave us the slip, and, as I say, left these out-of-date jewels topay her bills. You find her, Mr. Holmes, and I'm your debtor.""I mean to find her," said Sherlock Holmes. "I'm going through thishouse till I do find her.""Where is your warrant?"Holmes half drew a revolver from his pocket. "This will have to servetill a better one comes.""Why, you are a common burglar.""So you might describe me," said Holmes cheerfully. "My companionis also a dangerous ruffian. And together we are going through yourhouse."Our opponent opened the door."Fetch a policeman, Annie!" said he. There was a whisk of feminineskirts down the passage, and the hall door was opened and shut."Our time is limited, Watson," said Holmes. "If you try to stop us,Peters, you will most certainly get hurt. Where is that coffin which wasbrought into your house?""What do you want with the coffin? It is in use. There is a body in it.""I must see that body.""Never with my consent.""Then without it." With a quick movement Holmes pushed the fellowto one side and passed into the hall. A door half opened stoodimmediately before us. We entered. It was the dining-room. On the table,under a half-lit chandelier, the coffin was lying. Holmes turned up the gasand raised the lid. Deep down in the recesses of the coffin lay anemaciated figure. The glare from the lights above beat down upon an agedand withered face. By no possible process of cruelty, starvation, ordisease could this wornout wreck be the still beautiful Lady Frances.Holmes's face showed his amazement, and also his relief."Thank God!" he muttered. "It's someone else.""Ah, you've blundered badly for once, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," saidPeters, who had followed us into the room."Who is this dead woman?""Well, if you really must know, she is an old nurse of my wife's, Rose Spender [952] by name, whom we found in the Brixton WorkhouseInfirmary. We brought her round here, called in Dr. Horsom, of 13Firbank Villas-mind you take the address, Mr. Holmes-and had hercarefully tended, as Christian folk should. On the third day shedied-certificate says senile decay-but that's only the doctor's opinion,and of course you know better. We ordered her funeral to be carried outby Stimson and Co., of the Kennington Road, who will bury her at eighto'clock to-morrow morning. Can you pick any hole in that, Mr. Holmes?You've made a silly blunder, and you may as well own up to it. I'd givesomething for a photograph of your gaping, staring face when you pulledaside that lid expecting to see the Lady Frances Carfax and only found apoor old woman of ninety."Holmes's expression was as impassive as ever under the jeers of hisantagonist, but his clenched hands betrayed his acute annoyance."I am going through your house," said he."Are you, though!" cried Peters as a woman's voice and heavy stepssounded in the passage. "We'll soon see about that. This way, officers, ifyou please. These men have forced their way into my house, and I cannotget rid of them. Help me to put them out."A sergeant and a constable stood in the doorway. Holmes drew his cardfrom his case."This is my name and address. This is my friend, Dr. Watson.""Bless you, sir, we know you very well," said the sergeant, "but youcan't stay here without a warrant.""Of course not. I quite understand that.""Arrest him!" cried Peters."We know where to lay our hands on this gentleman if he is wanted,"said the sergeant majestically, "but you'll have to go, Mr. Holmes.""Yes, Watson, we shall have to go."A minute later we were in the street once more. Holmes was as cool asever, but I was hot with anger and humiliation. The sergeant had followedus."Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but that's the law.""Exactly, Sergeant, you could not do otherwise.""I expect there was good reason for your presence there. If there isanything I can do- -""It's a missing lady, Sergeant, and we think she is in that house. Iexpect a warrant presently.""Then I'll keep my eye on the parties, Mr. Holmes. If anything comesalong, I will surely let you know."It was only nine o'clock, and we were off full cry upon the trail at once.First we drove to Brixton Workhouse Infirmary, where we found that itwas indeed the truth that a charitable couple had called some days before,that they had claimed an imbecile old woman as a former servant, andthat they had obtained permission to take her away with them. No surprisewas expressed at the news that she had since died.The doctor was our next goal. He had been called in, had found thewoman dying of pure senility, had actually seen her pass away, and hadsigned the certificate in due form. "I assure you that everything was perfectly normal and there was no room for foul play in the matter," saidhe. Nothing in the house had struck him as suspicious save that for peopleof their class it was remarkable that they should have no servant. So farand no farther went the doctor.[953] Finally we found our way to Scotland Yard. There had beendifficulties of procedure in regard to the warrant. Some delay wasinevitable. The magistrate's signature might not be obtained until nextmorning. If Holmes would call about nine he could go down withLestrade and see it acted upon. So ended the day, save that near midnightour friend, the sergeant, called to say that he had seen flickering lightshere and there in the windows of the great dark house, but that no one hadleft it and none had entered. We could but pray for patience and wait forthe morrow.Sherlock Holmes was too irritable for conversation and too restless forsleep. I left him smoking hard, with his heavy, dark brows knottedtogether, and his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair,as he turned over in his mind every possible solution of the mystery.Several times in the course of the night I heard him prowling about thehouse. Finally, just after I had been called in the morning, he rushed intomy room. He was in his dressing-gown, but his pale, hollow-eyed facetold me that his night had been a sleepless one."What time was the funeral? Eight, was it not?" he asked eagerly."Well, it is 7:20 now. Good heavens, Watson, what has become of anybrains that God has given me? Quick, man, quick! It's life or death-ahundred chances on death to one on life. I'll never forgive myself, never,if we are too late!"Five minutes had not passed before we were flying in a hansom downBaker Street. But even so it was twenty-five to eight as we passed BigBen, and eight struck as we tore down the Brixton Road. But others werelate as well as we. Ten minutes after the hour the hearse was still standingat the door of the house, and even as our foaming horse came to a halt thecoffin, supported by three men, appeared on the threshold. Holmes dartedforward and barred their way."Take it back!" he cried, laying his hand on the breast of the foremost."Take it back this instant!""What the devil do you mean? Once again I ask you, where is yourwarrant?" shouted the furious Peters, his big red face glaring over thefarther end of the coffin."The warrant is on its way. This coffin shall remain in the house until itcomes."The authority in Holmes's voice had its effect upon the bearers. Petershad suddenly vanished into the house, and they obeyed these new orders."Quick, Watson, quick! Here is a screw-driver!" he shouted as the coffinwas replaced upon the table. "Here's one for you, my man! A sovereign ifthe lid comes off in a minute! Ask no questions-work away! That's good!Another! And another! Now pull all together! It's giving! It's giving! Ah,that does it at last."With a united effort we tore off the coffin-lid. As we did so there camefrom the inside a stupefying and overpowering smell of chloroform. Abody lay within, its head all wreathed in cotton-wool, which had beensoaked in the narcotic. Holmes plucked it off and disclosed the statuesqueface of a handsome and spiritual woman of middle age. In an instant hehad passed his arm round the figure and raised her to a sitting position."Is she gone, Watson? Is there a spark left? Surely we are not too late!"For half an hour it seemed that we were. What with actual suffocation,and what with the poisonous fumes of the chloroform, the Lady Francesseemed to have passed the last point of recall. And then, at last, withartificial respiration, with injected ether, with every device that sciencecould suggest, some flutter of life, some quiver of the eyelids, somedimming of a mirror, spoke of the slowly [954] returning life. A cab had driven up, and Holmes, parting the blind, looked out at it. "Here isLestrade with his warrant," said he. "He will find that his birds haveflown. And here," he added as a heavy step hurried along the passage, "issomeone who has a better right to nurse this lady than we have. Goodmorning, Mr. Green; I think that the sooner we can move the LadyFrances the better. Meanwhile, the funeral may proceed, and the poor oldwoman who still lies in that coffin may go to her last resting-place alone.""Should you care to add the case to your annals, my dear Watson," saidHolmes that evening, "it can only be as an example of that temporaryeclipse to which even the best-balanced mind may be exposed. Such slipsare common to all mortals, and the greatest is he who can recognize andrepair them. To this modified credit I may, perhaps, make some claim.My night was haunted by the thought that somewhere a clue, a strangesentence, a curious observation, had come under my notice and had beentoo easily dismissed. Then, suddenly, in the gray of the morning, thewords came back to me. It was the remark of the undertaker's wife, asreported by Philip Green. She had said, 'It should be there before now. Ittook longer, being out of the ordinary.' It was the coffin of which shespoke. It had been out of the ordinary. That could only mean that it hadbeen made to some special measurement. But why? Why? Then in aninstant I remembered the deep sides, and the little wasted figure at thebottom. Why so large a coffin for so small a body? To leave room foranother body. Both would be buried under the one certificate. It had allbeen so clear, if only my own sight had not been dimmed. At eight theLady Frances would be buried. Our one chance was to stop the coffinbefore it left the house."It was a desperate chance that we might find her alive, but it was achance, as the result showed. These people had never, to my knowledge,done a murder. They might shrink from actual violence at the last. Theycould bury her with no sign of how she met her end, and even if she wereexhumed there was a chance for them. I hoped that such considerationsmight prevail with them. You can reconstruct the scene well enough. Yousaw the horrible den upstairs, where the poor lady had been kept so long.They rushed in and overpowered her with their chloroform, carried herdown, poured more into the coffin to insure against her waking, and thenscrewed down the lid. A clever device, Watson. It is new to me in theannals of crime. If our ex-missionary friends escape the clutches ofLestrade, I shall expect to hear of some brilliant incidents in their futurecareer."