A Study in Scarlet

Bound for us, I know. Yes, he is stopping. There he is!"

  There was a violent peal at the bell, and in a few seconds

  the fair-haired detective came up the stairs, three steps

  at a time, and burst into our sitting-room.

  "My dear fellow," he cried, wringing Holmes' unresponsive hand,

  "congratulate me! I have made the whole thing as clear as day."

  A shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my companion's

  expressive face.

  "Do you mean that you are on the right track?" he asked.

  "The right track! Why, sir, we have the man under lock and key."

  "And his name is?"

  "Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her Majesty's navy,"

  cried Gregson, pompously, rubbing his fat hands and inflating

  his chest.

  Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief, and relaxed into a smile.

  "Take a seat, and try one of these cigars," he said.

  "We are anxious to know how you managed it. Will you have some

  whiskey and water?"

  "I don't mind if I do," the detective answered.

  "The tremendous exertions which I have gone through during

  the last day or two have worn me out. Not so much bodily

  exertion, you understand, as the strain upon the mind.

  You will appreciate that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for we are both

  brain-workers."

  "You do me too much honour," said Holmes, gravely.

  "Let us hear how you arrived at this most gratifying result."

  The detective seated himself in the arm-chair, and puffed

  complacently at his cigar. Then suddenly he slapped his

  thigh in a paroxysm of amusement.

  "The fun of it is," he cried, "that that fool Lestrade,

  who thinks himself so smart, has gone off upon the wrong track

  altogether. He is after the secretary Stangerson, who had no

  more to do with the crime than the babe unborn. I have no

  doubt that he has caught him by this time."

  The idea tickled Gregson so much that he laughed until he choked.

  "And how did you get your clue?"

  "Ah, I'll tell you all about it. Of course, Doctor Watson,

  this is strictly between ourselves. The first difficulty

  which we had to contend with was the finding of this

  American's antecedents. Some people would have waited until

  their advertisements were answered, or until parties came

  forward and volunteered information. That is not Tobias

  Gregson's way of going to work. You remember the hat beside

  the dead man?"

  "Yes," said Holmes; "by John Underwood and Sons, 129,

  Camberwell Road."

  Gregson looked quite crest-fallen.

  "I had no idea that you noticed that," he said.

  "Have you been there?"

  "No."

  "Ha!" cried Gregson, in a relieved voice; "you should never

  neglect a chance, however small it may seem."

  "To a great mind, nothing is little," remarked Holmes,

  sententiously.

  "Well, I went to Underwood, and asked him if he had sold a

  hat of that size and description. He looked over his books,

  and came on it at once. He had sent the hat to a Mr. Drebber,

  residing at Charpentier's Boarding Establishment,

  Torquay Terrace. Thus I got at his address."

  "Smart -- very smart!" murmured Sherlock Holmes.

  "I next called upon Madame Charpentier," continued the

  detective. "I found her very pale and distressed. Her

  daughter was in the room, too -- an uncommonly fine girl she

  is, too; she was looking red about the eyes and her lips

  trembled as I spoke to her. That didn't escape my notice.

  I began to smell a rat. You know the feeling, Mr. Sherlock

  Holmes, when you come upon the right scent -- a kind of

  thrill in your nerves. `Have you heard of the mysterious

  death of your late boarder Mr. Enoch J. Drebber, of

  Cleveland?' I asked.

  "The mother nodded. She didn't seem able to get out a word.

  The daughter burst into tears. I felt more than ever that

  these people knew something of the matter.

  "`At what o'clock did Mr. Drebber leave your house for the

  train?' I asked.

  "`At eight o'clock,' she said, gulping in her throat to keep

  down her agitation. `His secretary, Mr. Stangerson, said

  that there were two trains -- one at 9.15 and one at 11.

  He was to catch the first. {14}

  "`And was that the last which you saw of him?'

  "A terrible change came over the woman's face as I asked the

  question. Her features turned perfectly livid. It was some

  seconds before she could get out the single word `Yes' -- and

  when it did come it was in a husky unnatural tone.

  "There was silence for a moment, and then the daughter spoke

  in a calm clear voice.

  "`No good can ever come of falsehood, mother,' she said.

  `Let us be frank with this gentleman. We _did_ see Mr. Drebber

  again.'

  "`God forgive you!' cried Madame Charpentier, throwing up her

  hands and sinking back in her chair. `You have murdered your

  brother.'

  "`Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,' the girl

  answered firmly.

  "`You had best tell me all about it now,' I said.

  `Half-confidences are worse than none. Besides, you do not

  know how much we know of it.'

  "`On your head be it, Alice!' cried her mother; and then,

  turning to me, `I will tell you all, sir. Do not imagine

  that my agitation on behalf of my son arises from any fear

  lest he should have had a hand in this terrible affair.

  He is utterly innocent of it. My dread is, however, that in

  your eyes and in the eyes of others he may appear to be

  compromised. That however is surely impossible. His high

  character, his profession, his antecedents would all forbid it.'

  "`Your best way is to make a clean breast of the facts,'

  I answered. `Depend upon it, if your son is innocent he will

  be none the worse.'

  "`Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us together,' she said,

  and her daughter withdrew. `Now, sir,' she continued,

  `I had no intention of telling you all this, but since my

  poor daughter has disclosed it I have no alternative. Having

  once decided to speak, I will tell you all without omitting

  any particular.'

  "`It is your wisest course,' said I.

  "`Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly three weeks. He and

  his secretary, Mr. Stangerson, had been travelling on the

  Continent. I noticed a "Copenhagen" label upon each of their

  trunks, showing that that had been their last stopping place.

  Stangerson was a quiet reserved man, but his employer, I am

  sorry to say, was far otherwise. He was coarse in his habits

  and brutish in his ways. The very night of his arrival he

  became very much the worse for drink, and, indeed, after

  twelve o'clock in the day he could hardly ever be said to be

  sober. His manners towards the maid-servants were

  disgustingly free and familiar. Worst of all, he speedily

  assumed the same attitude towards my daughter, Alice, and

  spoke to her more than once in a way which, fortunately, she

  is too innocent to understand. On one occasion he actua
lly

  seized her in his arms and embraced her -- an outrage which

  caused his own secretary to reproach him for his unmanly conduct.'

  "`But why did you stand all this,' I asked. `I suppose that

  you can get rid of your boarders when you wish.'

  "Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. `Would

  to God that I had given him notice on the very day that he

  came,' she said. `But it was a sore temptation. They were

  paying a pound a day each -- fourteen pounds a week, and this

  is the slack season. I am a widow, and my boy in the Navy has

  cost me much. I grudged to lose the money. I acted for the

  best. This last was too much, however, and I gave him notice

  to leave on account of it. That was the reason of his going.'

  "`Well?'

  "`My heart grew light when I saw him drive away. My son is

  on leave just now, but I did not tell him anything of all

  this, for his temper is violent, and he is passionately fond

  of his sister. When I closed the door behind them a load

  seemed to be lifted from my mind. Alas, in less than an hour

  there was a ring at the bell, and I learned that Mr. Drebber

  had returned. He was much excited, and evidently the worse

  for drink. He forced his way into the room, where I was

  sitting with my daughter, and made some incoherent remark

  about having missed his train. He then turned to Alice, and

  before my very face, proposed to her that she should fly with

  him. "You are of age," he said, "and there is no law to stop

  you. I have money enough and to spare. Never mind the old

  girl here, but come along with me now straight away. You

  shall live like a princess." Poor Alice was so frightened

  that she shrunk away from him, but he caught her by the wrist

  and endeavoured to draw her towards the door. I screamed,

  and at that moment my son Arthur came into the room. What

  happened then I do not know. I heard oaths and the confused

  sounds of a scuffle. I was too terrified to raise my head.

  When I did look up I saw Arthur standing in the doorway

  laughing, with a stick in his hand. "I don't think that fine

  fellow will trouble us again," he said. "I will just go

  after him and see what he does with himself." With those

  words he took his hat and started off down the street.

  The next morning we heard of Mr. Drebber's mysterious death.'

  "This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier's lips with many

  gasps and pauses. At times she spoke so low that I could

  hardly catch the words. I made shorthand notes of all that

  she said, however, so that there should be no possibility of

  a mistake."

  "It's quite exciting," said Sherlock Holmes, with a yawn.

  "What happened next?"

  "When Mrs. Charpentier paused," the detective continued,

  "I saw that the whole case hung upon one point. Fixing her

  with my eye in a way which I always found effective with women,

  I asked her at what hour her son returned.

  "`I do not know,' she answered.

  "`Not know?'

  "`No; he has a latch-key, and he let himself in.'

  "`After you went to bed?'

  "`Yes.'

  "`When did you go to bed?'

  "`About eleven.'

  "`So your son was gone at least two hours?'

  "`Yes.'

  "`Possibly four or five?'

  "`Yes.'

  "`What was he doing during that time?'

  "`I do not know,' she answered, turning white to her very lips.

  "Of course after that there was nothing more to be done.

  I found out where Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers

  with me, and arrested him. When I touched him on the

  shoulder and warned him to come quietly with us, he answered

  us as bold as brass, `I suppose you are arresting me for

  being concerned in the death of that scoundrel Drebber,'

  he said. We had said nothing to him about it, so that his

  alluding to it had a most suspicious aspect."

  "Very," said Holmes.

  "He still carried the heavy stick which the mother described

  him as having with him when he followed Drebber. It was a

  stout oak cudgel."

  "What is your theory, then?"

  "Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far as the

  Brixton Road. When there, a fresh altercation arose between

  them, in the course of which Drebber received a blow from the

  stick, in the pit of the stomach, perhaps, which killed him

  without leaving any mark. The night was so wet that no one

  was about, so Charpentier dragged the body of his victim into

  the empty house. As to the candle, and the blood, and the

  writing on the wall, and the ring, they may all be so many

  tricks to throw the police on to the wrong scent."

  "Well done!" said Holmes in an encouraging voice. "Really,

  Gregson, you are getting along. We shall make something of

  you yet."

  "I flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly,"

  the detective answered proudly. "The young man volunteered a

  statement, in which he said that after following Drebber some

  time, the latter perceived him, and took a cab in order to

  get away from him. On his way home he met an old shipmate,

  and took a long walk with him. On being asked where this old

  shipmate lived, he was unable to give any satisfactory reply.

  I think the whole case fits together uncommonly well. What

  amuses me is to think of Lestrade, who had started off upon

  the wrong scent. I am afraid he won't make much of {15}

  Why, by Jove, here's the very man himself!"

  It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we

  were talking, and who now entered the room. The assurance

  and jauntiness which generally marked his demeanour and dress

  were, however, wanting. His face was disturbed and troubled,

  while his clothes were disarranged and untidy. He had

  evidently come with the intention of consulting with Sherlock

  Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be

  embarrassed and put out. He stood in the centre of the room,

  fumbling nervously with his hat and uncertain what to do.

  "This is a most extraordinary case," he said at last --

  "a most incomprehensible affair."

  "Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!" cried Gregson,

  triumphantly. "I thought you would come to that conclusion.

  Have you managed to find the Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?"

  "The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson," said Lestrade gravely,

  "was murdered at Halliday's Private Hotel about six o'clock

  this morning."

  CHAPTER VII.

  LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS.

  THE intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so

  momentous and so unexpected, that we were all three fairly

  dumfoundered. Gregson sprang out of his chair and upset the

  remainder of his whiskey and water. I stared in silence at

  Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were compressed and his brows

  drawn down over his eyes.

  "Stangerson too!" he muttered. "The plot thickens."

  "It was quite thick enough before," grumbled Lestrade,

  taking a chair. "I seem
to have dropped into a sort of council

  of war."

  "Are you -- are you sure of this piece of intelligence?"

  stammered Gregson.

  "I have just come from his room," said Lestrade.

  "I was the first to discover what had occurred."

  "We have been hearing Gregson's view of the matter," Holmes

  observed. "Would you mind letting us know what you have seen

  and done?"

  "I have no objection," Lestrade answered, seating himself.

  "I freely confess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson

  was concerned in the death of Drebber. This fresh

  development has shown me that I was completely mistaken.

  Full of the one idea, I set myself to find out what had

  become of the Secretary. They had been seen together at

  Euston Station about half-past eight on the evening of the

  third. At two in the morning Drebber had been found in the

  Brixton Road. The question which confronted me was to find

  out how Stangerson had been employed between 8.30 and the

  time of the crime, and what had become of him afterwards.

  I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description of the man,

  and warning them to keep a watch upon the American boats.

  I then set to work calling upon all the hotels and

  lodging-houses in the vicinity of Euston. You see, I argued

  that if Drebber and his companion had become separated,

  the natural course for the latter would be to put up somewhere

  in the vicinity for the night, and then to hang about the

  station again next morning."

  "They would be likely to agree on some meeting-place beforehand,"

  remarked Holmes.

  "So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday evening in

  making enquiries entirely without avail. This morning I

  began very early, and at eight o'clock I reached Halliday's

  Private Hotel, in Little George Street. On my enquiry as to

  whether a Mr. Stangerson was living there, they at once

  answered me in the affirmative.

  "`No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting,'

  they said. `He has been waiting for a gentleman for two days.'

  "`Where is he now?' I asked.

  "`He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be called at nine.'

  "`I will go up and see him at once,' I said.

  "It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his

  nerves and lead him to say something unguarded. The Boots

  volunteered to show me the room: it was on the second floor,

  and there was a small corridor leading up to it. The Boots

  pointed out the door to me, and was about to go downstairs

  again when I saw something that made me feel sickish, in

  spite of my twenty years' experience. From under the door

  there curled a little red ribbon of blood, which had

  meandered across the passage and formed a little pool along

  the skirting at the other side. I gave a cry, which brought

  the Boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The door

  was locked on the inside, but we put our shoulders to it, and

  knocked it in. The window of the room was open, and beside

  the window, all huddled up, lay the body of a man in his

  nightdress. He was quite dead, and had been for some time,

  for his limbs were rigid and cold. When we turned him over,

  the Boots recognized him at once as being the same gentleman

  who had engaged the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson.

  The cause of death was a deep stab in the left side, which

  must have penetrated the heart. And now comes the strangest

  part of the affair. What do you suppose was above the

  murdered man?"

  I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment of coming

  horror, even before Sherlock Holmes answered.