Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes THE VEILED LODGER

WHEN one considers that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in active practice fortwenty-three years, and that during seventeen of these I was allowed tocooperate with him and to keep notes of his doings, it will be clear that Ihave a mass of material at my command. The problem has always beennot to find but to choose. There is the long row of year-books which fill ashelf, and there are the dispatch-cases filled with documents, a perfectquarry for the student not only of crime but of the social and officialscandals of the late Victorian era. Concerning these latter, I may say thatthe writers of agonized letters, who beg that the honour of their familiesor the reputation of famous forebears may not be touched, have nothing tofear. The discretion and high sense of professional honour which havealways distinguished my friend are still at work in the choice of thesememoirs, and no confidence will be abused. I deprecate, however, in thestrongest way the attempts which have been made lately to get at and todestroy these papers. The source of these outrages is known, and if theyare repeated I have Mr. Holmes's authority for saying that the whole storyconcerning the politician, the lighthouse, and the trained cormorant willbe given to the public. There is at least one reader who will understand.It is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these cases gaveHolmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts of instinct andobservation which I have endeavoured to set forth in these memoirs.Sometimes he had with much effort to pick the fruit, sometimes it felleasily into his lap. But the most terrible human tragedies were ofteninvolved in those cases which brought him the fewest personalopportunities, and it is one of these which I now desire to record. Intelling it, I have made a slight change of name and place, but otherwisethe facts are as stated.One forenoon-it was late in 1896-I received a hurried note fromHolmes asking for my attendance. When I arrived I found him seated in asmoke-laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherly woman of the buxomlandlady type in the corresponding chair in front of him."This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton," said my friend with a waveof the hand. "Mrs. Merrilow does not object to tobacco, Watson, if youwish to indulge your filthy habits. Mrs. Merrilow has an interesting storyto tell which may well lead to further developments in which yourpresence may be useful.""Anything I can do- -""You will understand, Mrs. Merrilow, that if I come to Mrs. Ronder Ishould prefer to have a witness. You will make her understand that beforewe arrive.""Lord bless you, Mr. Holmes," said our visitor, "she is that anxious to see you that you might bring the whole parish at your heels!""Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us see that we have ourfacts [1096] correct before we start. If we go over them it will help Dr.Watson to understand the situation. You say that Mrs. Ronder has beenyour lodger for seven years and that you have only once seen her face.""And I wish to God I had not!" said Mrs. Merrilow."It was, I understand, terribly mutilated.""Well, Mr. Holmes, you would hardly say it was a face at all. That'show it looked. Our milkman got a glimpse of her once peeping out of theupper window, and he dropped his tin and the milk all over the frontgarden. That is the kind of face it is. When I saw her-I happened on herunawares-she covered up quick, and then she said, 'Now, Mrs. Merrilow,you know at last why it is that I never raise my veil.' ""Do you know anything about her history?""Nothing at all.""Did she give references when she came?""No, sir, but she gave hard cash, and plenty of it. A quarter's rent rightdown on the table in advance and no arguing about terms. In these times apoor woman like me can't afford to turn down a chance like that.""Did she give any reason for choosing your house?""Mine stands well back from the road and is more private than most.Then, again, I only take the one, and I have no family of my own. Ireckon she had tried others and found that mine suited her best. It'sprivacy she is after, and she is ready to pay for it.""You say that she never showed her face from first to last save on theone accidental occasion. Well, it is a very remarkable story, mostremarkable, and I don't wonder that you want it examined.""I don't, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so long as I get my rent. Youcould not have a quieter lodger, or one who gives less trouble.""Then what has brought matters to a head?""Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be wasting away. And there'ssomething terrible on her mind. 'Murder!' she cries. 'Murder!' And onceI heard her: 'You cruel beast! You monster!' she cried. It was in the night,and it fair rang through the house and sent the shivers through me. So Iwent to her in the morning. 'Mrs. Ronder,' I says, 'if you have anythingthat is troubling your soul, there's the clergy,' I says, 'and there's thepolice. Between them you should get some help.' 'For God's sake, not thepolice!' says she, 'and the clergy can't change what is past. And yet,' shesays, 'it would ease my mind if someone knew the truth before I died.''Well,' says I, 'if you won't have the regulars, there is this detective manwhat we read about'- beggin' your pardon, Mr. Holmes. And she, she fairjumped at it. 'That's the man,' says she. 'I wonder I never thought of itbefore. Bring him here, Mrs. Merrilow, and if he won't come, tell him Iam the wife of Ronder's wild beast show. Say that, and give him thename Abbas Parva. Here it is as she wrote it, Abbas Parva. 'That willbring him if he's the man I think he is.' ""And it will, too," remarked Holmes. "Very good, Mrs. Merrilow. Ishould like to have a little chat with Dr. Watson. That will carry us tilllunch-time. About three o'clock you may expect to see us at your house in Brixton."Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room-no other verb candescribe Mrs. Merrilow's method of progression-than Sherlock Holmesthrew himself with fierce energy upon the pile of commonplace books inthe corner. For a few minutes there was a constant swish of the leaves,and then with a grunt of satisfaction he [1097] came upon what he sought.So excited was he that he did not rise, but sat upon the floor like somestrange Buddha, with crossed legs, the huge books all round him, and oneopen upon his knees."The case worried me at the time, Watson. Here are my marginal notesto prove it. I confess that I could make nothing of it. And yet I wasconvinced that the coroner was wrong. Have you no recollection of theAbbas Parva tragedy?""None, Holmes.""And yet you were with me then. But certainly my own impression wasvery superficial. For there was nothing to go by, and none of the partieshad engaged my services. Perhaps you would care to read the papers?""Could you not give me the points?""That is very easily done. It will probably come back to your memoryas I talk. Ronder, of course, was a household word. He was the rival ofWombwell, and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmen of his day. Thereis evidence, however, that he took to drink, and that both he and his showwere on the down grade at the time of the great tragedy. The caravan hadhalted for the night at Abbas Parva, which is a small village in Berkshire,when this horror occurred. They were on their way to Wimbledon,travelling by road, and they were simply camping and not exhibiting, asthe place is so small a one that it would not have paid them to open."They had among their exhibits a very fine North African lion. Sahara King was its name, and it was the habit, both of Ronder and his wife, togive exhibitions inside its cage. Here, you see, is a photograph of theperformance by which you will perceive that Ronder was a huge porcineperson and that his wife was a very magnificent woman. It was deposed atthe inquest that there had been some signs that the lion was dangerous,but, as usual, familiarity begat contempt, and no notice was taken of thefact."It was usual for either Ronder or his wife to feed the lion at night.Sometimes one went, sometimes both, but they never allowed anyone elseto do it, for they believed that so long as they were the food-carriers hewould regard them as benefactors and would never molest them. On thisparticular night, seven years ago, they both went, and a very terriblehappening followed, the details of which have never been made clear."It seems that the whole camp was roused near midnight by the roars ofthe animal and the screams of the woman. The different grooms andemployees rushed from their tents, carrying lanterns, and by their light anawful sight was revealed. Ronder lay, with the back of his head crushed inand deep claw-marks across his scalp, some ten yards from the cage,which was open. Close to the door of the cage lay Mrs. Ronder upon herback, with the creature squatting and snarling above her. It had torn herface in such a fashion that it was never thought that she could live.Several of the circus men, headed by Leonardo, the strong man, andGriggs, the clown, drove the creature off with poles, upon which it sprangback into the cage and was at once locked in. How it had got loose was amystery. It was conjectured that the pair intended to enter the cage, butthat when the door was loosed the creature bounded out upon them. Therewas no other point of interest in the evidence save that the woman in adelirium of agony kept screaming, 'Coward! Coward!' as she was carriedback to the van in which they lived. It was six months before she was fitto give evidence, but the inquest was duly held, with the obvious verdictof death from misadventure."[1098] "What alternative could be conceived?" said I."You may well say so. And yet there were one or two points whichworried young Edmunds, of the Berkshire Constabulary. A smart lad that!He was sent later to Allahabad. That was how I came into the matter, forhe dropped in and smoked a pipe or two over it.""A thin, yellow-haired man?""Exactly. I was sure you would pick up the trail presently.""But what worried him?""Well, we were both worried. It was so deucedly difficult to reconstructthe affair. Look at it from the lion's point of view. He is liberated. Whatdoes he do? He takes half a dozen bounds forward, which brings him toRonder. Ronder turns to fly-the claw-marks were on the back of hishead-but the lion strikes him down. Then, instead of bounding on andescaping, he returns to the woman, who was close to the cage, and heknocks her over and chews her face up. Then, again, those cries of herswould seem to imply that her husband had in some way failed her. Whatcould the poor devil have done to help her? You see the difficulty?""Quite." "And then there was another thing. It comes back to me now as I thinkit over. There was some evidence that just at the time the lion roared andthe woman screamed, a man began shouting in terror.""This man Ronder, no doubt.""Well, if his skull was smashed in you would hardly expect to hearfrom him again. There were at least two witnesses who spoke of the criesof a man being mingled with those of a woman.""I should think the whole camp was crying out by then. As to the otherpoints, I think I could suggest a solution.""I should be glad to consider it.""The two were together, ten yards from the cage, when the lion gotloose. The man turned and was struck down. The woman conceived theidea of getting into the cage and shutting the door. It was her only refuge.She made for it, and just as she reached it the beast bounded after her andknocked her over. She was angry with her husband for having encouragedthe beast's rage by turning. If they had faced it they might have cowed it.Hence her cries of 'Coward!' ""Brilliant, Watson! Only one flaw in your diamond.""What is the flaw, Holmes?""If they were both ten paces from the cage, how came the beast to getloose?""Is it possible that they had some enemy who loosed it?""And why should it attack them savagely when it was in the habit ofplaying with them, and doing tricks with them inside the cage?""Possibly the same enemy had done something to enrage it."Holmes looked thoughtful and remained in silence for some moments."Well, Watson, there is this to be said for your theory. Ronder was aman of many enemies. Edmunds told me that in his cups he was horrible.A huge bully of a man, he cursed and slashed at everyone who came inhis way. I expect those cries about a monster, of which our visitor hasspoken, were nocturnal reminiscences of the dear departed. However, ourspeculations are futile until we have all the facts. There is a cold partridgeon the sideboard, Watson, and a bottle of Montrachet. Let us renew ourenergies before we make a fresh call upon them."When our hansom deposited us at the house of Mrs. Merrilow, wefound that [1099] plump lady blocking up the open door of her humble butretired abode. It was very clear that her chief preoccupation was lest sheshould lose a valuable lodger, and she implored us, before showing us up,to say and do nothing which could lead to so undesirable an end. Then,having reassured her, we followed her up the straight, badly carpetedstaircase and were shown into the room of the mysterious lodger.It was a close, musty, ill-ventilated place, as might be expected, sinceits inmate seldom left it. From keeping beasts in a cage, the womanseemed, by some retribution of fate, to have become herself a beast in acage. She sat now in a broken armchair in the shadowy corner of theroom. Long years of inaction had coarsened the lines of her figure, but atsome period it must have been beautiful, and was still full andvoluptuous. A thick dark veil covered her face, but it was cut off close ather upper lip and disclosed a perfectly shaped mouth and a delicately rounded chin. I could well conceive that she had indeed been a veryremarkable woman. Her voice, too, was well modulated and pleasing."My name is not unfamiliar to you, Mr. Holmes," said she. "I thoughtthat it would bring you.""That is so, madam, though I do not know how you are aware that Iwas interested in your case.""I learned it when I had recovered my health and was examined by Mr.Edmunds, the county detective. I fear I lied to him. Perhaps it would havebeen wiser had I told the truth.""It is usually wiser to tell the truth. But why did you lie to him?""Because the fate of someone else depended upon it. I know that hewas a very worthless being, and yet I would not have his destruction uponmy conscience. We had been so close-so close!""But has this impediment been removed?""Yes, sir. The person that I allude to is dead.""Then why should you not now tell the police anything you know?""Because there is another person to be considered. That other person ismyself. I could not stand the scandal and publicity which would comefrom a police examination. I have not long to live, but I wish to dieundisturbed. And yet I wanted to find one man of judgment to whom Icould tell my terrible story, so that when I am gone all might beunderstood.""You compliment me, madam. At the same time, I am a responsibleperson. I do not promise you that when you have spoken I may not myselfthink it my duty to refer the case to the police.""I think not, Mr. Holmes. I know your character and methods too well,for I have followed your work for some years. Reading is the onlypleasure which fate has left me, and I miss little which passes in theworld. But in any case, I will take my chance of the use which you maymake of my tragedy. It will ease my mind to tell it.""My friend and I would be glad to hear it."The woman rose and took from a drawer the photograph of a man. Hewas clearly a professional acrobat, a man of magnificent physique, takenwith his huge arms folded across his swollen chest and a smile breakingfrom under his heavy moustache-the self-satisfied smile of the man ofmany conquests."That is Leonardo," she said."Leonardo, the strong man, who gave evidence?"[1100] "The same. And this-this is my husband."It was a dreadful face-a human pig, or rather a human wild boar, for itwas formidable in its bestiality. One could imagine that vile mouthchamping and foaming in its rage, and one could conceive those small,vicious eyes darting pure malignancy as they looked forth upon the world.Ruffian, bully, beast-it was all written on that heavy-jowled face."Those two pictures will help you, gentlemen, to understand the story. Iwas a poor circus girl brought up on the sawdust, and doing springsthrough the hoop before I was ten. When I became a woman this manloved me, if such lust as his can be called love, and in an evil moment Ibecame his wife. From that day I was in hell, and he the devil who tormented me. There was no one in the show who did not know of histreatment. He deserted me for others. He tied me down and lashed mewith his riding-whip when I complained. They all pitied me and they allloathed him, but what could they do? They feared him, one and all. For hewas terrible at all times, and murderous when he was drunk. Again andagain he was had up for assault, and for cruelty to the beasts, but he hadplenty of money and the fines were nothing to him. The best men all leftus, and the show began to go downhill. It was only Leonardo and I whokept it up- with little Jimmy Griggs, the clown. Poor devil, he had notmuch to be funny about, but he did what he could to hold things together."Then Leonardo came more and more into my life. You see what hewas like. I know now the poor spirit that was hidden in that splendidbody, but compared to my husband he seemed like the angel Gabriel. Hepitied me and helped me, till at last our intimacy turned to love-deep,deep, passionate love, such love as I had dreamed of but never hoped tofeel. My husband suspected it, but I think that he was a coward as well asa bully, and that Leonardo was the one man that he was afraid of. He tookrevenge in his own way by torturing me more than ever. One night mycries brought Leonardo to the door of our van. We were near tragedy thatnight, and soon my lover and I understood that it could not be avoided.My husband was not fit to live. We planned that he should die."Leonardo had a clever, scheming brain. It was he who planned it. I donot say that to blame him, for I was ready to go with him every inch ofthe way. But I should never have had the wit to think of such a plan. Wemade a club- Leonardo made it-and in the leaden head he fastened fivelong steel nails, the points outward, with just such a spread as the lion'spaw. This was to give my husband his death-blow, and yet to leave theevidence that it was the lion which we would loose who had done thedeed."It was a pitch-dark night when my husband and I went down, as wasour custom, to feed the beast. We carried with us the raw meat in a zincpail. Leonardo was waiting at the corner of the big van which we shouldhave to pass before we reached the cage. He was too slow, and we walkedpast him before he could strike, but he followed us on tiptoe and I heardthe crash as the club smashed my husband's skull. My heart leaped withjoy at the sound. I sprang forward, and I undid the catch which held thedoor of the great lion's cage."And then the terrible thing happened. You may have heard how quickthese creatures are to scent human blood, and how it excites them. Somestrange instinct had told the creature in one instant that a human being hadbeen slain. As I slipped the bars it bounded out and was on me in aninstant. Leonardo could have saved me. If he had rushed forward andstruck the beast with his club he might have [1101] cowed it. But the manlost his nerve. I heard him shout in his terror, and then I saw him turn andfly. At the same instant the teeth of the lion met in my face. Its hot, filthybreath had already poisoned me and I was hardly conscious of pain. Withthe palms of my hands I tried to push the great steaming, blood-stainedjaws away from me, and I screamed for help. I was conscious that thecamp was stirring, and then dimly I remembered a group of men.Leonardo, Griggs, and others, dragging me from under the creature'spaws. That was my last memory, Mr. Holmes, for many a weary month.When I came to myself and saw myself in the mirror, I cursed thatlion-oh, how I cursed him! -not because he had torn away my beauty butbecause he had not torn away my life. I had but one desire, Mr. Holmes,and I had enough money to gratify it. It was that I should cover myself sothat my poor face should be seen by none, and that I should dwell wherenone whom I had ever known should find me. That was all that was left tome to do-and that is what I have done. A poor wounded beast that hascrawled into its hole to die-that is the end of Eugenia Ronder."We sat in silence for some time after the unhappy woman had told herstory. Then Holmes stretched out his long arm and patted her hand withsuch a show of sympathy as I had seldom known him to exhibit. "Poor girl!" he said. "Poor girl! The ways of fate are indeed hard tounderstand. If there is not some compensation hereafter, then the world isa cruel jest. But what of this man Leonardo?""I never saw him or heard from him again. Perhaps I have been wrongto feel so bitterly against him. He might as soon have loved one of thefreaks whom we carried round the country as the thing which the lion hadleft. But a woman's love is not so easily set aside. He had left me underthe beast's claws, he had deserted me in my need, and yet I could notbring myself to give him to the gallows. For myself, I cared nothing whatbecame of me. What could be more dreadful than my actual life? But Istood between Leonardo and his fate.""And he is dead?""He was drowned last month when bathing near Margate. I saw hisdeath in the paper.""And what did he do with this five-clawed club, which is the mostsingular and ingenious part of all your story?""I cannot tell, Mr. Holmes. There is a chalk-pit by the camp, with adeep green pool at the base of it. Perhaps in the depths of that pool- -""Well, well, it is of little consequence now. The case is closed.""Yes," said the woman, "the case is closed."We had risen to go, but there was something in the woman's voicewhich arrested Holmes's attention. He turned swiftly upon her."Your life is not your own," he said. "Keep your hands off it.""What use is it to anyone?" "How can you tell? The example of patient suffering is in itself themost precious of all lessons to an impatient world."The woman's answer was a terrible one. She raised her veil and steppedforward into the light."I wonder if you would bear it," she said.It was horrible. No words can describe the framework of a face whenthe face itself is gone. Two living and beautiful brown eyes looking sadlyout from that [1102] grisly ruin did but make the view more awful. Holmesheld up his hand in a gesture of pity and protest, and together we left theroom.Two days later, when I called upon my friend, he pointed with somepride to a small blue bottle upon his mantelpiece. I picked it up. Therewas a red poison label. A pleasant almondy odour rose when I opened it."Prussic acid?" said I."Exactly. It came by post. 'I send you my temptation. I will follow youradvice.' That was the message. I think, Watson, we can guess the name ofthe brave woman who sent it."