done her to death in some way which has deceived the doctor andsimulated a natural end--poisoning, perhaps. And yet how strange thatthey should ever let a doctor approach her unless he were aconfederate, which is hardly a credible 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 justpassed the pawnbroker's. Would you go in, Watson? Your appearanceinspires confidence. Ask what hour the Poultney Square funeral takesplace to-morrow."
The woman in the shop answered me without hesitation that it was to beat 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 youarmed?"
"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 tokeep within the four corners of the law. You can drive off, cabby.Now, Watson, we'll just take our luck together, as we have occasionallyin the 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!" saidshe. "My husband is not afraid to face any man in the world." Sheclosed the door behind us and showed us into a sitting-room on theright side of the hall, turning up the gas as she left us. "Mr. Peterswill be with you in an instant," she said.
Her words were literally true, for we had hardly time to look aroundthe dusty and moth-eaten apartment in which we found ourselves beforethe door opened and a big, clean-shaven bald-headed man stepped lightlyinto the room. He had a large red face, with pendulous cheeks, and ageneral air of superficial benevolence which was marred by a cruel,vicious mouth.
"There is surely some mistake here, gentlemen," he said in an unctuous,make-everything-easy voice. "I fancy that you have been misdirected.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 hisformidable pursuer. "I guess your name does not frighten me, Mr.Holmes," said he coolly. "When a man's conscience is easy you can'trattle him. What is your business in my house?"
"I want to know what you have done with the Lady Frances Carfax, whomyou 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 hundredpounds, and nothing to show for it but a couple of trumpery pendantsthat the dealer would hardly look at. She attached herself to Mrs.Peters and me at Baden--it is a fact that I was using another name atthe time--and she stuck on to us until we came to London. I paid herbill and her ticket. Once in London, she gave us the slip, and, as Isay, left these out-of-date jewels to pay 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're a common burglar."
"So you might describe me," said Holmes cheerfully. "My companion isalso 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 whichwas brought into your house?"
"What do you want with the coffin? It is in use. There is a body init."
"I must see the body."
"Never with my consent."
"Then without it." With a quick movement Holmes pushed the fellow toone side and passed into the hall. A door half opened stoodimmediately before us. We entered. It was the dining-room. On thetable, under a half-lit chandelier, the coffin was lying. Holmesturned up the gas and raised the lid. Deep down in the recesses of thecoffin lay an emaciated figure. The glare from the lights above beatdown upon an aged and withered face. By no possible process of cruelty,starvation, or disease could this worn-out wreck be the still beautifulLady 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 the dead woman?"
"Well, if you really must know, she is an old nurse of my wife's, RoseSpender by name, whom we found in the Brixton Workhouse Infirmary. Webrought her round here, called in Dr. Horsom, of 13 FirbankVillas--mind you take the address, Mr. Holmes--and had her carefullytended, as Christian folk should. On the third day shedied--certificate says senile decay--but that's only the doctor'sopinion, and of course you know better. We ordered her funeral to becarried out by Stimson and Co., of the Kennington Road, who will buryher at eight o'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 toit. I'd give something for a photograph of your gaping, staring facewhen you pulled aside that lid expecting to see the Lady Frances Carfaxand only found a poor 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, if you please. These men have forced their way into myhouse, and I cannot get 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 hadfollowed us.
"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 atonce. First we drove to Brixton Workhouse Infirmary, where we foundthat it was indeed the truth that a charitable couple had called somedays before, that they had claimed an imbecile old woman as a formerservant, and that they had obtained permission to take her a
way withthem. No surprise was 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 wasperfectly normal and there was no room for foul play in the matter,"said he. Nothing in the house had struck him as suspicious save thatfor people of their class it was remarkable that they should have noservant. So far and no further went the doctor.
Finally we found our way to Scotland Yard. There had been difficultiesof procedure in regard to the warrant. Some delay was inevitable. Themagistrate's signature might not be obtained until next morning. IfHolmes would call about nine he could go down with Lestrade and see itacted upon. So ended the day, save that near midnight our friend, thesergeant, called to say that he had seen flickering lights here andthere in the windows of the great dark house, but that no one had leftit 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 hischair, as he turned over in his mind every possible solution of themystery. Several times in the course of the night I heard him prowlingabout the house. Finally, just after I had been called in the morning,he rushed into my room. He was in his dressing-gown, but his pale,hollow-eyed face told 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 otherswere late as well as we. Ten minutes after the hour the hearse wasstill standing at the door of the house, and even as our foaming horsecame to a halt the coffin, supported by three men, appeared on thethreshold. Holmes darted forward and barred their way.
"Take it back!" he cried, laying his hand on the breast of theforemost. "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. The coffin shall remain in the house untilit comes."
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 thecoffin was replaced upon the table. "Here's one for you, my man! Asovereign if the lid comes off in a minute! Ask no questions--workaway! 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 therecame from the inside a stupefying and overpowering smell of chloroform.A body lay within, its head all wreathed in cotton-wool, which had beensoaked in the narcotic. Holmes plucked it off and disclosed thestatuesque face of a handsome and spiritual woman of middle age. In aninstant he had passed his arm round the figure and raised her to asitting position.
"Is she gone, Watson? Is there a spark left? Surely we are not toolate!"
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, and with every device thatscience could suggest, some flutter of life, some quiver of theeyelids, some dimming of a mirror, spoke of the slowly returning life.A cab had driven up, and Holmes, parting the blind, looked out at it."Here is Lestrade with his warrant," said he. "He will find that hisbirds have flown. And here," he added as a heavy step hurried alongthe passage, "is someone who has a better right to nurse this lady thanwe have. Good morning, Mr. Green; I think that the sooner we can movethe Lady Frances the better. Meanwhile, the funeral may proceed, andthe poor old woman who still lies in that coffin may go to her lastresting-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. Suchslips are common to all mortals, and the greatest is he who canrecognize and repair them. To this modified credit I may, perhaps,make some claim. My night was haunted by the thought that somewhere aclue, a strange sentence, a curious observation, had come under mynotice and had been too easily dismissed. Then, suddenly, in the grayof the morning, the words came back to me. It was the remark of theundertaker's wife, as reported by Philip Green. She had said, 'Itshould be there before now. It took longer, being out of theordinary.' It was the coffin of which she spoke. It had been out ofthe ordinary. That could only mean that it had been made to somespecial measurement. But why? Why? Then in an instant I rememberedthe deep sides, and the little wasted figure at the bottom. Why solarge a coffin for so small a body? To leave room for another body.Both would be buried under the one certificate. It had all been soclear, if only my own sight had not been dimmed. At eight the LadyFrances would be buried. Our one chance was to stop the coffin beforeit 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.The could bury her with no sign of how she met her end, and even if shewere exhumed there was a chance for them. I hoped that suchconsiderations might prevail with them. You can reconstruct the scenewell enough. You saw the horrible den upstairs, where the poor ladyhad been kept so long. They rushed in and overpowered her with theirchloroform, carried her down, poured more into the coffin to insureagainst her waking, and then screwed down the lid. A clever device,Watson. It is new to me in the annals of crime. If our ex-missionaryfriends escape the clutches of Lestrade, I shall expect to hear of somebrilliant incidents in their future career."
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