Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes THE RETIRED COLOURMAN

SHERLOCK HOLMES was in a melancholy and philosophic mood thatmorning. His alert practical nature was subject to such reactions."Did you see him?" he asked."You mean the old fellow who has just gone out?""Precisely.""Yes, I met him at the door.""What did you think of him?""A pathetic, futile, broken creature.""Exactly, Watson. Pathetic and futile. But is not all life pathetic andfutile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp.And what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. Or worse than ashadow- misery.""Is he one of your clients?""Well, I suppose I may call him so. He has been sent on by the Yard.Just as medical men occasionally send their incurables to a quack. Theyargue that they can do nothing more, and that whatever happens thepatient can be no worse than he is.""What is the matter?"Holmes took a rather soiled card from the table. "Josiah Amberley. Hesays he was junior partner of Brickfall and Amberley, who aremanufacturers of artistic materials. You will see their names upon paintboxes. He made his little pile, retired from business at the age of sixtyone, bought a house at Lewisham, and settled down to rest after a life ofceaseless grind. One would think his future was tolerably assured.""Yes, indeed."Holmes glanced over some notes which he had scribbled upon the backof an envelope."Retired in 1896, Watson. Early in 1897 he married a woman twentyyears younger than himself-a good-looking woman, too, if thephotograph does not flatter. A competence, a wife, leisure-it seemed astraight road which lay before him. And yet within two years he is, as youhave seen, as broken and miserable a creature as crawls beneath the sun.""But what has happened?""The old story, Watson. A treacherous friend and a fickle wife. Itwould appear that Amberley has one hobby in life, and it is chess. Not farfrom him at Lewisham there lives a young doctor who is also a chessplayer. I have noted his name as Dr. Ray Ernest. Ernest was frequently inthe house, and an intimacy between him and Mrs. Amberley was a naturalsequence, for you must admit that our unfortunate client has few outwardgraces, whatever his inner virtues may be. The couple went off togetherlast week-destination untraced. What is more, the faithless spouse carried off the old man's deed-box as her personal luggage with a good part ofhis life's savings within. Can we find the lady? Can we save the money?A commonplace problem so far as it has developed, and yet a vital one forJosiah Amberley."[1114] "What will you do about it?""Well, the immediate question, my dear Watson, happens to be, Whatwill you do?-if you will be good enough to understudy me. You knowthat I am preoccupied with this case of the two Coptic Patriarchs, whichshould come to a head to-day. I really have not time to go out toLewisham, and yet evidence taken on the spot has a special value. The oldfellow was quite insistent that I should go, but I explained my difficulty.He is prepared to meet a representative.""By all means," I answered. "I confess I don't see that I can be of muchservice, but I am willing to do my best." And so it was that on a summerafternoon I set forth to Lewisham, little dreaming that within a week theaffair in which I was engaging would be the eager debate of all England.It was late that evening before I returned to Baker Street and gave anaccount of my mission. Holmes lay with his gaunt figure stretched in hisdeep chair, his pipe curling forth slow wreaths of acrid tobacco, while hiseyelids drooped over his eyes so lazily that he might almost have beenasleep were it not that at any halt or questionable passage of my narrativethey half lifted, and two gray eyes, as bright and keen as rapiers,transfixed me with their searching glance."The Haven is the name of Mr. Josiah Amberley's house," I explained."I think it would interest you, Holmes. It is like some penurious patricianwho has sunk into the company of his inferiors. You know that particularquarter, the monotonous brick streets, the weary suburban highways.Right in the middle of them, a little island of ancient culture and comfort,lies this old home, surrounded by a high sun-baked wall mottled withlichens and topped with moss, the sort of wall- -""Cut out the poetry, Watson," said Holmes severely. "I note that it wasa high brick wall.""Exactly. I should not have known which was The Haven had I notasked a lounger who was smoking in the street. I have a reason formentioning him. He was a tall, dark, heavily moustached, rather militarylooking man. He nodded in answer to my inquiry and gave me a curiouslyquestioning glance, which came back to my memory a little later."I had hardly entered the gateway before I saw Mr. Amberley comingdown the drive. I only had a glimpse of him this morning, and hecertainly gave me the impression of a strange creature, but when I sawhim in full light his appearance was even more abnormal.""I have, of course, studied it, and yet I should be interested to have yourimpression," said Holmes."He seemed to me like a man who was literally bowed down by care.His back was curved as though he carried a heavy burden. Yet he was notthe weakling that I had at first imagined, for his shoulders and chest havethe framework of a giant, though his figure tapers away into a pair ofspindled legs.""Left shoe wrinkled, right one smooth.""I did not observe that.""No, you wouldn't. I spotted his artificial limb. But proceed.""I was struck by the snaky locks of grizzled hair which curled fromunder his old straw hat, and his face with its fierce, eager expression andthe deeply lined features.""Very good, Watson. What did he say?""He began pouring out the story of his grievances. We walked downthe drive [1115] together, and of course I took a good look round. I havenever seen a worse-kept place. The garden was all running to seed, givingme an impression of wild neglect in which the plants had been allowed tofind the way of Nature rather than of art. How any decent woman couldhave tolerated such a state of things, I don't know. The house, too, wasslatternly to the last degree, but the poor man seemed himself to be awareof it and to be trying to remedy it, for a great pot of green paint stood inthe centre of the hall, and he was carrying a thick brush in his left hand.He had been working on the woodwork."He took me into his dingy sanctum, and we had a long chat. Of course,he was disappointed that you had not come yourself. 'I hardly expected,'he said, 'that so humble an individual as myself, especially after myheavy financial loss, could obtain the complete attention of so famous aman as Mr. Sherlock Holmes.'"I assured him that the financial question did not arise. 'No, of course,it is art for art's sake with him,' said he, 'but even on the artistic side ofcrime he might have found something here to study. And human nature,Dr. Watson -the black ingratitude of it all! When did I ever refuse one ofher requests? Was ever a woman so pampered? And that young man-hemight have been my own son. He had the run of my house. And yet seehow they have treated me! Oh, Dr. Watson, it is a dreadful, dreadfulworld!' "That was the burden of his song for an hour or more. He had, it seems,no suspicion of an intrigue. They lived alone save for a woman whocomes in by the day and leaves every evening at six. On that particularevening old Amberley, wishing to give his wife a treat, had taken twoupper circle seats at the Haymarket Theatre. At the last moment she hadcomplained of a headache and had refused to go. He had gone alone.There seemed to be no doubt about the fact, for he produced the unusedticket which he had taken for his wife.""That is remarkable-most remarkable," said Holmes, whose interest inthe case seemed to be rising. "Pray continue, Watson. I find yournarrative most arresting. Did you personally examine this ticket? You didnot, perchance, take the number?""It so happens that I did," I answered with some pride. "It chanced tobe my old school number, thirty-one, and so is stuck in my head.""Excellent, Watson! His seat, then, was either thirty or thirty-two.""Quite so," I answered with some mystification. "And on B row.""That is most satisfactory. What else did he tell you?""He showed me his strong-room, as he called it. It really is a strongroom -like a bank-with iron door and shutter-burglar-proof, as heclaimed. However, the woman seems to have had a duplicate key, andbetween them they had carried off some seven thousand pounds' worth ofcash and securities.""Securities! How could they dispose of those?""He said that he had given the police a list and that he hoped theywould be unsaleable. He had got back from the theatre about midnightand found the place plundered, the door and window open, and thefugitives gone. There was no letter or message, nor has he heard a wordsince. He at once gave the alarm to the police."Holmes brooded for some minutes."You say he was painting. What was he painting?""Well, he was painting the passage. But he had already painted the doorand woodwork of this room I spoke of.""Does it not strike you as a strange occupation in the circumstances?"[1116] " 'One must do something to ease an aching heart.' That was hisown explanation. It was eccentric, no doubt, but he is clearly an eccentricman. He tore up one of his wife's photographs in my presence-tore it upfuriously in a tempest of passion. 'I never wish to see her damned faceagain,' he shrieked.""Anything more, Watson?""Yes, one thing which struck me more than anything else. I had drivento the Blackheath Station and had caught my train there when, just as itwas starting, I saw a man dart into the carriage next to my own. Youknow that I have a quick eye for faces, Holmes. It was undoubtedly thetall, dark man whom I had addressed in the street. I saw him once more atLondon Bridge, and then I lost him in the crowd. But I am convinced thathe was following me.""No doubt! No doubt!" said Holmes. "A tall, dark, heavily moustachedman, you say, with gray-tinted sun-glasses?""Holmes, you are a wizard. I did not say so, but he had gray-tinted sunglasses.""And a Masonic tie-pin?""Holmes!""Quite simple, my dear Watson. But let us get down to what ispractical. I must admit to you that the case, which seemed to me to be soabsurdly simple as to be hardly worth my notice, is rapidly assuming avery different aspect. It is true that though in your mission you havemissed everything of importance, yet even those things which haveobtruded themselves upon your notice give rise to serious thought.""What have I missed?""Don't be hurt, my dear fellow. You know that I am quite impersonal.No one else would have done better. Some possibly not so well. Butclearly you have missed some vital points. What is the opinion of theneighbours about this man Amberley and his wife? That surely is ofimportance. What of Dr. Ernest? Was he the gay Lothario one would expect? With your natural advantages, Watson, every lady is your helperand accomplice. What about the girl at the post-office, or the wife of thegreengrocer? I can picture you whispering soft nothings with the younglady at the Blue Anchor, and receiving hard somethings in exchange. Allthis you have left undone.""It can still be done.""It has been done. Thanks to the telephone and the help of the Yard, Ican usually get my essentials without leaving this room. As a matter offact, my information confirms the man's story. He has the local repute ofbeing a miser as well as a harsh and exacting husband. That he had a largesum of money in that strong-room of his is certain. So also is it that youngDr. Ernest, an unmarried man, played chess with Amberley, and probablyplayed the fool with his wife. All this seems plain sailing, and one wouldthink that there was no more to be said-and yet!-and yet!""Where lies the difficulty?""In my imagination, perhaps. Well, leave it there, Watson. Let usescape from this weary workaday world by the side door of music. Carinasings to-night at the Albert Hall, and we still have time to dress, dine, andenjoy."In the morning I was up betimes, but some toast crumbs and two emptyegg-shells told me that my companion was earlier still. I found a scribblednote upon the table.[1117] DEAR WATSON:There are one or two points of contact which I should wish toestablish with Mr. Josiah Amberley. When I have done so we candismiss the case-or not. I would only ask you to be on hand aboutthree o'clock, as I conceive it possible that I may want you.S. H.I saw nothing of Holmes all day, but at the hour named he returned,grave, preoccupied, and aloof. At such times it was wiser to leave him tohimself."Has Amberley been here yet?""No.""Ah! I am expecting him."He was not disappointed, for presently the old fellow arrived with avery worried and puzzled expression upon his austere face."I've had a telegram, Mr. Holmes. I can make nothing of it." Hehanded it over, and Holmes read it aloud."Come at once without fail. Can give you information as to yourrecent loss."ELMAN."The Vicarage."Dispatched at 2:10 from Little Purlington," said Holmes. "LittlePurlington is in Essex, I believe, not far from Frinton. Well, of course youwill start at once. This is evidently from a responsible person, the vicar of the place. Where is my Crockford? Yes, here we have him: 'J. C. Elman,M. A., Living of Moosmoor cum Little Purlington.' Look up the trains,Watson.""There is one at 5:20 from Liverpool Street.""Excellent. You had best go with him, Watson. He may need help oradvice. Clearly we have come to a crisis in this affair."But our client seemed by no means eager to start."It's perfectly absurd, Mr. Holmes," he said. "What can this manpossibly know of what has occurred? It is waste of time and money.""He would not have telegraphed to you if he did not know something.Wire at once that you are coming.""I don't think I shall go."Holmes assumed his sternest aspect."It would make the worst possible impression both on the police andupon myself, Mr. Amberley, if when so obvious a clue arose you shouldrefuse to follow it up. We should feel that you were not really in earnestin this investigation."Our client seemed horrified at the suggestion."Why, of course I shall go if you look at it in that way," said he. "Onthe face of it, it seems absurd to suppose that this parson knows anything,but if you think- -""I do think," said Holmes with emphasis, and so we were launchedupon our journey. Holmes took me aside before we left the room andgave me one word of counsel, which showed that he considered thematter to be of importance. "Whatever you do, see that he really does go,"said he. "Should he break away or return, get to the nearest telephoneexchange and send the single word 'Bolted.' I will arrange here that itshall reach me wherever I am."Little Purlington is not an easy place to reach, for it is on a branch line.My [1118] remembrance of the journey is not a pleasant one, for theweather was hot, the train slow, and my companion sullen and silent,hardly talking at all save to make an occasional sardonic remark as to thefutility of our proceedings. When we at last reached the little station itwas a two-mile drive before we came to the Vicarage, where a big,solemn, rather pompous clergyman received us in his study. Our telegramlay before him."Well, gentlemen," he asked, "what can I do for you?""We came," I explained, "in answer to your wire.""My wire! I sent no wire.""I mean the wire which you sent to Mr. Josiah Amberley about his wifeand his money.""If this is a joke, sir, it is a very questionable one," said the vicarangrily. "I have never heard of the gentleman you name, and I have notsent a wire to anyone."Our client and I looked at each other in amazement."Perhaps there is some mistake," said I; "are there perhaps twovicarages? Here is the wire itself, signed Elman and dated from theVicarage.""There is only one vicarage, sir, and only one vicar, and this wire is ascandalous forgery, the origin of which shall certainly be investigated bythe police. Meanwhile, I can see no possible object in prolonging thisinterview."So Mr. Amberley and I found ourselves on the roadside in what seemedto me to be the most primitive village in England. We made for thetelegraph office, but it was already closed. There was a telephone,however, at the little Railway Arms, and by it I got into touch withHolmes, who shared in our amazement at the result of our journey."Most singular!" said the distant voice. "Most remarkable! I much fear,my dear Watson, that there is no return train to-night. I have unwittinglycondemned you to the horrors of a country inn. However, there is alwaysNature, Watson-Nature and Josiah Amberley-you can be in closecommune with both." I heard his dry chuckle as he turned away.It was soon apparent to me that my companion's reputation as a miserwas not undeserved. He had grumbled at the expense of the journey, hadinsisted upon travelling third-class, and was now clamorous in hisobjections to the hotel bill. Next morning, when we did at last arrive inLondon, it was hard to say which of us was in the worse humour."You had best take Baker Street as we pass," said I. "Mr. Holmes mayhave some fresh instructions.""If they are not worth more than the last ones they are not of much use," said Amberley with a malevolent scowl. None the less, he kept me company. I had already warned Holmes by telegram of the hour of ourarrival, but we found a message waiting that he was at Lewisham andwould expect us there. That was a surprise, but an even greater one was tofind that he was not alone in the sitting-room of our client. A sternlooking, impassive man sat beside him, a dark man with gray-tintedglasses and a large Masonic pin projecting from his tie."This is my friend Mr. Barker," said Holmes. "He has been interestinghimself also in your business, Mr. Josiah Amberley, though we have beenworking independently. But we both have the same question to ask you!"Mr. Amberley sat down heavily. He sensed impending danger. I read itin his straining eyes and his twitching features."What is the question, Mr. Holmes?"[1119] "Only this: What did you do with the bodies?"The man sprang to his feet with a hoarse scream. He clawed into the airwith his bony hands. His mouth was open, and for the instant he lookedlike some horrible bird of prey. In a flash we got a glimpse of the realJosiah Amberley, a misshapen demon with a soul as distorted as his body.As he fell back into his chair he clapped his hand to his lips as if to stifle acough. Holmes sprang at his throat like a tiger and twisted his facetowards the ground. A white pellet fell from between his gasping lips."No short cuts, Josiah Amberley. Things must be done decently and inorder. What about it, Barker?""I have a cab at the door," said our taciturn companion."It is only a few hundred yards to the station. We will go together. Youcan stay here, Watson. I shall be back within half an hour." The old colourman had the strength of a lion in that great trunk of his,but he was helpless in the hands of the two experienced man-handlers.Wriggling and twisting he was dragged to the waiting cab, and I was leftto my solitary vigil in the ill-omened house. In less time than he hadnamed, however, Holmes was back, in company with a smart youngpolice inspector."I've left Barker to look after the formalities," said Holmes. "You hadnot met Barker, Watson. He is my hated rival upon the Surrey shore.When you said a tall dark man it was not difficult for me to complete thepicture. He has several good cases to his credit, has he not, Inspector?""He has certainly interfered several times," the inspector answered withreserve."His methods are irregular, no doubt, like my own. The irregulars areuseful sometimes, you know. You, for example, with your compulsorywarning about whatever he said being used against him, could never havebluffed this rascal into what is virtually a confession.""Perhaps not. But we get there all the same, Mr. Holmes. Don'timagine that we had not formed our own views of this case, and that wewould not have laid our hands on our man. You will excuse us for feelingsore when you jump in with methods which we cannot use, and so rob usof the credit.""There shall be no such robbery, MacKinnon. I assure you that I effacemyself from now onward, and as to Barker, he has done nothing savewhat I told him."The inspector seemed considerably relieved."That is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. Praise or blame canmatter little to you, but it is very different to us when the newspapersbegin to ask questions.""Quite so. But they are pretty sure to ask questions anyhow, so it wouldbe as well to have answers. What will you say, for example, when theintelligent and enterprising reporter asks you what the exact points werewhich aroused your suspicion, and finally gave you a certain convictionas to the real facts?"The inspector looked puzzled."We don't seem to have got any real facts yet, Mr. Holmes. You saythat the prisoner, in the presence of three witnesses, practically confessedby trying to commit suicide, that he had murdered his wife and her lover.What other facts have you?""Have you arranged for a search?""There are three constables on their way.""Then you will soon get the clearest fact of all. The bodies cannot befar away. Try the cellars and the garden. It should not take long to dig upthe likely places. [1120] This house is older than the water-pipes. Theremust be a disused well somewhere. Try your luck there.""But how did you know of it, and how was it done?""I'll show you first how it was done, and then I will give theexplanation which is due to you, and even more to my long-sufferingfriend here, who has been invaluable throughout. But, first, I would giveyou an insight into this man's mentality. It is a very unusual one-so much so that I think his destination is more likely to be Broadmoor than thescaffold. He has, to a high degree, the sort of mind which one associateswith the mediaeval Italian nature rather than with the modern Briton. Hewas a miserable miser who made his wife so wretched by his niggardlyways that she was a ready prey for any adventurer. Such a one came uponthe scene in the person of this chess-playing doctor. Amberley excelled atchess-one mark, Watson, of a scheming mind. Like all misers, he was ajealous man, and his jealousy became a frantic mania. Rightly or wrongly,he suspected an intrigue. He determined to have his revenge, and heplanned it with diabolical cleverness. Come here!"Holmes led us along the passage with as much certainty as if he hadlived in the house and halted at the open door of the strong-room."Pooh! What an awful smell of paint!" cried the inspector."That was our first clue," said Holmes. "You can thank Dr. Watson'sobservation for that, though he failed to draw the inference. It set my footupon the trail. Why should this man at such a time be filling his housewith strong odours? Obviously, to cover some other smell which hewished to conceal -some guilty smell which would suggest suspicions.Then came the idea of a room such as you see here with iron door andshutter-a hermetically sealed room. Put those two facts together, andwhither do they lead? I could only determine that by examining the housemyself. I was already certain that the case was serious, for I had examinedthe box-office chart at the Haymarket Theatre-another of Dr. Watson'sbull's-eyes-and ascertained that neither B thirty nor thirty-two of theupper circle had been occupied that night. Therefore, Amberley had notbeen to the theatre, and his alibi fell to the ground. He made a bad slipwhen he allowed my astute friend to notice the number of the seat takenfor his wife. The question now arose how I might be able to examine thehouse. I sent an agent to the most impossible village I could think of, andsummoned my man to it at such an hour that he could not possibly getback. To prevent any miscarriage, Dr. Watson accompanied him. Thegood vicar's name I took, of course, out of my Crockford. Do I make it allclear to you?""It is masterly," said the inspector in an awed voice."There being no fear of interruption I proceeded to burgle the house.Burglary has always been an alternative profession had I cared to adopt it,and I have little doubt that I should have come to the front. Observe whatI found. You see the gas-pipe along the skirting here. Very good. It risesin the angle of the wall, and there is a tap here in the corner. The pipe runsout into the strong-room, as you can see, and ends in that plaster rose inthe centre of the ceiling, where it is concealed by the ornamentation. Thatend is wide open. At any moment by turning the outside tap the roomcould be flooded with gas. With door and shutter closed and the tap fullon I would not give two minutes of conscious sensation to anyone shut upin that little chamber. By what devilish device he decoyed them there I donot know, but once inside the door they were at his mercy."[1121] The inspector examined the pipe with interest. "One of ourofficers mentioned the smell of gas," said he, "but of course the windowand door were open then, and the paint-or some of it-was already about. He had begun the work of painting the day before, according to his story.But what next, Mr. Holmes?""Well, then came an incident which was rather unexpected to myself. Iwas slipping through the pantry window in the early dawn when I felt ahand inside my collar, and a voice said: 'Now, you rascal, what are youdoing in there?' When I could twist my head round I looked into thetinted spectacles of my friend and rival, Mr. Barker. It was a curiousforegathering and set us both smiling. It seems that he had been engagedby Dr. Ray Ernest's family to make some investigations and had come tothe same conclusion as to foul play. He had watched the house for somedays and had spotted Dr. Watson as one of the obviously suspiciouscharacters who had called there. He could hardly arrest Watson, but whenhe saw a man actually climbing out of the pantry window there came alimit to his restraint. Of course, I told him how matters stood and wecontinued the case together.""Why him? Why not us?""Because it was in my mind to put that little test which answered soadmirably. I fear you would not have gone so far."The inspector smiled."Well, maybe not. I understand that I have your word, Mr. Holmes, thatyou step right out of the case now and that you turn all your results overto us.""Certainly, that is always my custom.""Well, in the name of the force I thank you. It seems a clear case, asyou put it, and there can't be much difficulty over the bodies." "I'll show you a grim little bit of evidence," said Holmes, "and I amsure Amberley himself never observed it. You'll get results, Inspector, byalways putting yourself in the other fellow's place, and thinking what youwould do yourself. It takes some imagination, but it pays. Now, we willsuppose that you were shut up in this little room, had not two minutes tolive, but wanted to get even with the fiend who was probably mocking atyou from the other side of the door. What would you do?""Write a message.""Exactly. You would like to tell people how you died. No use writingon paper. That would be seen. If you wrote on the wall someone mightrest upon it. Now, look here! Just above the skirting is scribbled with apurple indelible pencil: 'We we- -' That's all.""What do you make of that?""Well, it's only a foot above the ground. The poor devil was on thefloor dying when he wrote it. He lost his senses before he could finish.""He was writing, 'We were murdered.' ""That's how I read it. If you find an indelible pencil on the body- -""We'll look out for it, you may be sure. But those securities? Clearlythere was no robbery at all. And yet he did possess those bonds. Weverified that.""You may be sure he has them hidden in a safe place. When the wholeelopement had passed into history, he would suddenly discover them andannounce that the guilty couple had relented and sent back the plunder orhad dropped it on the way.""You certainly seem to have met every difficulty," said the inspector."Of course, [1122] he was bound to call us in, but why he should havegone to you I can't understand.""Pure swank!" Holmes answered. "He felt so clever and so sure ofhimself that he imagined no one could touch him. He could say to anysuspicious neighbour, 'Look at the steps I have taken. I have consultednot only the police but even Sherlock Holmes.' "The inspector laughed."We must forgive you your 'even,' Mr. Holmes," said he, "it's asworkmanlike a job as I can remember."A couple of days later my friend tossed across to me a copy of the biweekly North Surrey Observer. Under a series of flaming headlines,which began with "The Haven Horror" and ended with "Brilliant PoliceInvestigation," there was a packed column of print which gave the firstconsecutive account of the affair. The concluding paragraph is typical ofthe whole. It ran thus:The remarkable acumen by which Inspector MacKinnondeduced from the smell of paint that some other smell, that of gas,for example, might be concealed; the bold deduction that thestrong-room might also be the death-chamber, and the subsequentinquiry which led to the discovery of the bodies in a disused well,cleverly concealed by a dog-kennel, should live in the history ofcrime as a standing example of the intelligence of our professionaldetectives."Well, well, MacKinnon is a good fellow," said Holmes with a tolerantsmile. "You can file it in our archives, Watson. Some day the true storymay be told."