The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

concluded that Straker was leading a double life, and

  keeping a second establishment. The nature of the

  bill showed that there was a lady in the case, and one

  who had expensive tastes. Liberal as you are with

  your servants, one can hardly expect that they can buy

  twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I

  questioned Mrs. Straker as to the dress without her

  knowing it, and having satisfied myself that it had

  never reached her, I made a note of the milliner's

  address, and felt that by calling there with Straker's

  photograph I could easily dispose of the mythical

  Derbyshire.

  "From that time on all was plain. Straker had led out

  the horse to a hollow where his light would be

  invisible. Simpson in his flight had dropped his

  cravat, and Straker had picked it up--with some idea,

  perhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse's

  leg. Once in the hollow, he had got behind the horse

  and had struck a light; but the creature frightened at

  the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of

  animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had

  lashed out, and the steel shoe had struck Straker full

  on the forehead. He had already, in spite of the

  rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his

  delicate task, and so, as he fell, his knife gashed

  his thigh. Do I make it clear?"

  "Wonderful!" cried the Colonel. "Wonderful! You

  might have been there!"

  "My final shot was, I confess a very long one. It

  struck me that so astute a man as Straker would not

  undertake this delicate tendon-nicking without a

  little practice. What could he practice on? My eyes

  fell upon the sheep, and I asked a question which,

  rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was

  correct.

  "When I returned to London I called upon the milliner,

  who had recognized Straker as an excellent customer of

  the name of Derbyshire, who had a very dashing wife,

  with a strong partiality for expensive dresses. I

  have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over

  head and ears in debt, and so led him into this

  miserable plot."

  "You have explained all but one thing," cried the

  Colonel. "Where was the horse?"

  "Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your

  neighbors. We must have an amnesty in that direction,

  I think. This is Clapham Junction, if I am not

  mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten

  minutes. If you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms,

  Colonel, I shall be happy to give you any other

  details which might interest you."

  Adventure II

  The Yellow Face

  [In publishing these short sketches based upon the

  numerous cases in which my companion's singular gifts

  have made us the listeners to, and eventually the

  actors in, some strange drama, it is only natural that

  I should dwell rather upon his successes than upon his

  failures. And this not so much for the sake of his

  reputations--for, indeed, it was when he was at his

  wits' end that his energy and his versatility were

  most admirable--but because where he failed it

  happened too often that no one else succeeded, and

  that the tale was left forever without a conclusion.

  Now and again, however, it chanced that even when he

  erred, the truth was still discovered. I have noted

  of some half-dozen cases of the kind the Adventure of

  the Musgrave Ritual and that which I am about to

  recount are the two which present the strongest

  features of interest.]

  Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for

  exercise's sake. Few men were capable of greater

  muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly one of the

  finest boxers of his weight that I have ever seen; but

  he looked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste of

  energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save when

  there was some professional object to be served. Then

  he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable. That he

  should have kept himself in training under such

  circumstances is remarkable, but his diet was usually

  of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the

  verge of austerity. Save for the occasional use of

  cocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the

  drug as a protest against the monotony of existence

  when cases were scanty and the papers uninteresting.

  One day in early spring he had so fare relaxed as to

  go for a walk with me in the Park, where the first

  faint shoots of green were breaking out upon the elms,

  and the sticky spear-heads of the chestnuts were just

  beginning to burst into their five-fold leaves. For

  two hours we rambled about together, in silence for

  the most part, as befits two men who know each other

  intimately. It was nearly five before we were back in

  Baker Street once more.

  "Beg pardon, sir," said our page-boy, as he opened the

  door. "There's been a gentleman here asking for you,

  sir."

  Holmes glanced reproachfully at me. "So much for

  afternoon walks!" said he. "Has this gentleman gone,

  then?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Didn't you ask him in?"

  "Yes, sir; he came in."

  "How long did he wait?"

  "Half an hour, sir. He was a very restless gentleman,

  sir, a-walkin' and a-stampin' all the time he was

  here. I was waitin' outside the door, sir, and I

  could hear him. At last he out into the passage, and

  he cries, 'Is that man never goin' to come?' Those

  were his very words, sir. 'You'll only need to wait a

  little longer,' says I. 'Then I'll wait in the open

  air, for I feel half choked,' says he. 'I'll be back

  before long.' And with that he ups and he outs, and

  all I could say wouldn't hold him back."

  "Well, well, you did you best," said Holmes, as we

  walked into our room. "It's very annoying, though,

  Watson. I was badly in need of a case, and this

  looks, from the man's impatience, as if it were of

  importance. Hullo! That's not your pipe on the table.

  He must have left his behind him. A nice old brier

  with a good long stem of what the tobacconists call

  amber. I wonder how many real amber mouthpieces there

  are in London? Some people think that a fly in it is

  a sign. Well, he must have been disturbed in his mind

  to leave a pipe behind him which he evidently values

  highly."

  "How do you know that he values it highly?" I asked.

  "Well, I should put the original cost of the pipe at

  seven and sixpence. Now it has, you see, been twice

  mended, once in the wooden stem and once in the

  amber. Each of these mends, done, as you observe,

  with silver bands, must have cost more than the pipe

  did originally. The man must value the pipe highly

  when he prefers to patch it up rather than buy a new

  one with the same money."

  "Anything else
?" I asked, for Holmes was turning the

  pipe about in his hand, and staring at it in his

  peculiar pensive way.

  He held it up and tapped on it with his long, thin

  fore-finger, as a professor might who was lecturing on

  a bone.

  "Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest,"

  said he. "Nothing has more individuality, save

  perhaps watches and bootlaces. The indications here,

  however, are neither very marked nor very important.

  The owner is obviously a muscular man, left-handed,

  with an excellent set of teeth, careless in his

  habits, and with no need to practise economy."

  My friend threw out the information in a very offhand

  way, but I saw that he cocked his eye at me to see if

  I had followed his reasoning.

  "You think a man must be well-to-do if he smokes a

  seven-shilling pipe," said I.

  "This is Grosvenor mixture at eightpence an ounce,"

  Holmes answered, knocking a little out on his palm.

  "As he might get an excellent smoke for half the

  price, he has no need to practise economy."

  "And the other points?"

  "He has been in the habit of lighting his pipe at

  lamps and gas-jets. You can see that it is quite

  charred all down one side. Of course a match could

  not have done that. Why should a man hold a match to

  the side of his pipe? But you cannot light it at a

  lamp without getting the bowl charred. And it is all

  on the right side of the pipe. From that I gather

  that he is a left-handed man. You hold your own pipe

  to the lamp, and see how naturally you, being

  right-handed, hold the left side to the flame. You

  might do it once the other way, but not as a

  constancy. This has always been held so. Then he has

  bitten through his amber. It takes a muscular,

  energetic fellow, and one with a good set of teeth, to

  do that. But if I am not mistaken I hear him upon the

  stair, so we shall have something more interesting

  than his pipe to study."

  An instant later our door opened, and a tall young man

  entered the room. He was well but quietly dressed in

  a dark-gray suit, and carried a brown wide-awake in

  his hand. I should have put him at about thirty,

  though he was really some years older.

  "I beg your pardon," said he, with some embarrassment;

  "I suppose I should have knocked. Yes, of course I

  should have knocked. The fact is that I am a little

  upset, and you must put it all down to that." He

  passed his hand over his forehead like a man who is

  half dazed, and then fell rather than sat down upon a

  chair.

  "I can see that you have not slept for a night or

  two," said Holmes, in his easy, genial way. "That

  tries a man's nerves more than work, and more even

  than pleasure. May I ask how I can help you?"

  "I wanted your advice, sir. I don't know what to do

  and my whole life seems to have gone to pieces."

  "You wish to employ me as a consulting detective?"

  "Not that only. I want your opinion as a judicious

  man--as a man of the world. I want to know what I

  ought to do next. I hope to God you'll be able to

  tell me."

  He spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it

  seemed to me that to speak at all was very painful to

  him, and that his will all through was overriding his

  inclinations.

  "It's a very delicate thing," said he. "One does not

  like to speak of one's domestic affairs to strangers.

  It seems dreadful to discuss the conduct of one's wife

  with two men whom I have never seen before. It's

  horrible to have to do it. But I've got to the end of

  my tether, and I must have advice."

  "My dear Mr. Grant Munro--" began Holmes.

  Our visitor sprang from his char. "What!" he cried,

  "you know my mane?"

  "If you wish to preserve your incognito,' said Holmes,

  smiling, "I would suggest that you cease to write your

  name upon the lining of your hat, or else that you

  turn the crown towards the person whom you are

  addressing. I was about to say that my friend and I

  have listened to a good many strange secrets in this

  room, and that we have had the good fortune to bring

  peace to many troubled souls. I trust that we may do

  as much for you. Might I beg you, as time may prove

  to be of importance, to furnish me with the facts of

  your case without further delay?"

  Our visitor again passed his hand over his forehead,

  as if he found it bitterly hard. From every gesture

  and expression I could see that he was a reserved,

  self-contained man, with a dash of pride in his

  nature, more likely to hide his wounds than to expose

  them. Then suddenly, with a fierce gesture of his

  closed hand, like one who throws reserve to the winds,

  he began.

  "The facts are these, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am a

  married man, and have been so for three years. During

  that time my wife and I have loved each other as

  fondly and lived as happily as any two that ever were

  joined. We have not had a difference, not one, in

  thought or word or deed. And now, since last Monday,

  there has suddenly sprung up a barrier between us, and

  I find that there is something in her life and in her

  thought of which I know as little as if she were the

  woman who brushes by me in the street. We are

  estranged, and I want to know why.

  "Now there is one thing that I want to impress upon

  you before I go any further, Mr. Holmes. Effie loves

  me. Don't let there be any mistake about that. She

  loves me with her whole heart and soul, and never more

  than now. I know it. I feel it. I don't want to

  argue about that. A man can tell easily enough when a

  woman loves him. But there's this secret between us,

  and we can never be the same until it is cleared."

  "Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro," said

  Holmes, with some impatience.

  "I'll tell you what I know about Effie's history. She

  was a widow when I met her first, though quite

  young--only twenty-five. Her name then was Mrs.

  Hebron. She went out to America when she was young,

  and lived in the town of Atlanta, where she married

  this Hebron, who was a lawyer with a good practice.

  They had one child, but the yellow fever broke out

  badly in the place, and both husband and child died of

  it. I have seen his death certificate. This sickened

  her of America, and she came back to live with a

  maiden aunt at Pinner, in Middlesex. I may mention

  that her husband had left her comfortably off, and

  that she had a capital of about four thousand five

  hundred pounds, which had been so well invested by him

  that it returned an average of seven per cent. She

  had only been six months at Pinner when I met her; we

  fell in love with each other, and we married a few

  weeks afterwards.

  "I
am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an income

  of seven or eight hundred, we found ourselves

  comfortably off, and took a nice eighty-pound-a-year

  villa at Norbury. Our little place was very

  countrified, considering that it is so close to town.

  We had an inn and two houses a little above us, and a

  single cottage at the other side of the field which

  faces us, and except those there were no houses until

  you got half way to the station. My business took me

  into town at certain seasons, but in summer I had less

  to do, and then in our country home my wife and I were

  just as happy as could be wished. I tell you that

  there never was a shadow between us until this

  accursed affair began.

  "There's one thing I ought to tell you before I go

  further. When we married, my wife made over all her

  property to me--rather against my will, for I saw how

  awkward it would be if my business affairs went wrong.

  However, she would have it so, and it was done. Well,

  about six weeks ago she came to me.

  "'Jack,' said she, 'when you took my money you said

  that if ever I wanted any I was to ask you for it.'

  "'Certainly,' said I. 'It's all your own.'

  "'Well,' said she, 'I want a hundred pounds.'

  "I was a bit staggered at this, for I had imagined it

  was simply a new dress or something of the kind that

  she was after.

  "'What on earth for?' I asked.

  "'Oh,' said she, in her playful way, 'you said that

  you were only my banker, and bankers never ask

  questions, you know.'

  "'If you really mean it, of course you shall have the

  money,' said I.

  "'Oh, yes, I really mean it.'

  "'And you won't tell me what you want it for?'

  "'Some day, perhaps, but not just at present, Jack.'

  "So I had to be content with that, thought it was the

  first time that there had ever been any secret between

  us. I gave her a check, and I never thought any more

  of the matter. It may have nothing to do with what

  came afterwards, but I thought it only right to

  mention it.

  "Well, I told you just now that there is a cottage not

  far from our house. There is just a field between us,

  but to reach it you have to go along the road and then

  turn down a lane. Just beyond it is a nice little

  grove of Scotch firs, and I used to be very fond of

  strolling down there, for trees are always a

  neighborly kind of things. The cottage had been

  standing empty this eight months, and it was a pity,

  for it was a pretty two storied place, with an

  old-fashioned porch and honeysuckle about it. I have

  stood many a time and thought what a neat little

  homestead it would make.

  "Well, last Monday evening I was taking a stroll down

  that way, when I met an empty van coming up the lane,

  and saw a pile of carpets and things lying about on

  the grass-plot beside the porch. It was clear that

  the cottage had at last been let. I walked past it,

  and wondered what sort of folk they were who had come

  to live so near us. And as I looked I suddenly became

  aware that a face was watching me out of one of the

  upper windows.

  "I don't know what there was about that face, Mr.

  Holmes, but it seemed to send a chill right down my

  back. I was some little way off, so that I could not

  make out the features, but there was something

  unnatural and inhuman about the face. That was the

  impression that I had, and I moved quickly forwards to

  get a nearer view of the person who was watching me.

  But as I did so the face suddenly disappeared, so

  suddenly that it seemed to have been plucked away into

  the darkness of the room. I stood for five minutes

  thinking the business over, and trying to analyze my

  impressions. I could not tell if the face were that

  of a man or a woman. It had been too far from me for

  that. But its color was what had impressed me most.

  It was of a livid chalky white, and with something set

  and rigid about it which was shockingly unnatural. So

  disturbed was I that I determined to see a little more

  of the new inmates of the cottage. I approached and

  knocked at the door, which was instantly opened by a

  tall, gaunt woman with a harsh, forbidding face.

  "'What may you be wantin'?' she asked, in a Northern

  accent.

  "'I am your neighbor over yonder,' said I, nodding