The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

save the five dried pips. What could be the reason of his

  overpowering terror? I left the breakfast-table, and as I

  ascended the stair I met him coming down with an old rusty key,

  which must have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small

  brass box, like a cashbox, in the other.

  "'They may do what they like, but I'll checkmate them still,'

  said he with an oath. 'Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my

  room to-day, and send down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.'

  "I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked to

  step up to the room. The fire was burning brightly, and in the

  grate there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned

  paper, while the brass box stood open and empty beside it. As I

  glanced at the box I noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was

  printed the treble K which I had read in the morning upon the

  envelope.

  "'I wish you, John,' said my uncle, 'to witness my will. I leave

  my estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to

  my brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to

  you. If you can enjoy it in peace, well and good! If you find you

  cannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest

  enemy. I am sorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but I can't

  say what turn things are going to take. Kindly sign the paper

  where Mr. Fordham shows you.'

  "I signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with

  him. The singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest

  impression upon me, and I pondered over it and turned it every

  way in my mind without being able to make anything of it. Yet I

  could not shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left

  behind, though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed

  and nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our lives. I

  could see a change in my uncle, however. He drank more than ever,

  and he was less inclined for any sort of society. Most of his

  time he would spend in his room, with the door locked upon the

  inside, but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy

  and would burst out of the house and tear about the garden with a

  revolver in his hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no man,

  and that he was not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by

  man or devil. When these hot fits were over however, he would

  rush tumultuously in at the door and lock and bar it behind him,

  like a man who can brazen it out no longer against the terror

  which lies at the roots of his soul. At such times I have seen

  his face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it

  were new raised from a basin.

  "Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to

  abuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of those

  drunken sallies from which he never came back. We found him, when

  we went to search for him, face downward in a little

  green-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden. There

  was no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep,

  so that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity,

  brought in a verdict of 'suicide.' But I, who knew how he winced

  from the very thought of death, had much ado to persuade myself

  that he had gone out of his way to meet it. The matter passed,

  however, and my father entered into possession of the estate, and

  of some 14,000 pounds, which lay to his credit at the bank."

  "One moment," Holmes interposed, "your statement is, I foresee,

  one of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me

  have the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and

  the date of his supposed suicide."

  "The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His death was seven weeks

  later, upon the night of May 2d."

  "Thank you. Pray proceed."

  "When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my

  request, made a careful examination of the attic, which had been

  always locked up. We found the brass box there, although its

  contents had been destroyed. On the inside of the cover was a

  paper label, with the initials of K. K. K. repeated upon it, and

  'Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register' written beneath.

  These, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had

  been destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest, there was

  nothing of much importance in the attic save a great many

  scattered papers and note-books bearing upon my uncle's life in

  America. Some of them were of the war time and showed that he had

  done his duty well and had borne the repute of a brave soldier.

  Others were of a date during the reconstruction of the Southern

  states, and were mostly concerned with politics, for he had

  evidently taken a strong part in opposing the carpet-bag

  politicians who had been sent down from the North.

  "Well, it was the beginning of '84 when my father came to live at

  Horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the

  January of '85. On the fourth day after the new year I heard my

  father give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the

  breakfast-table. There he was, sitting with a newly opened

  envelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the

  outstretched palm of the other one. He had always laughed at what

  he called my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked

  very scared and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon

  himself.

  "'Why, what on earth does this mean, John?' he stammered.

  "My heart had turned to lead. 'It is K. K. K.,' said I.

  "He looked inside the envelope. 'So it is,' he cried. 'Here are

  the very letters. But what is this written above them?'

  "'Put the papers on the sundial,' I read, peeping over his

  shoulder.

  "'What papers? What sundial?' he asked.

  "'The sundial in the garden. There is no other,' said I; 'but the

  papers must be those that are destroyed.'

  "'Pooh!' said he, gripping hard at his courage. 'We are in a

  civilized land here, and we can't have tomfoolery of this kind.

  Where does the thing come from?'

  "'From Dundee,' I answered, glancing at the postmark.

  "'Some preposterous practical joke,' said he. 'What have I to do

  with sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of such

  nonsense.'

  "'I should certainly speak to the police,' I said.

  "'And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of the sort.'

  "'Then let me do so?'

  "'No, I forbid you. I won't have a fuss made about such

  nonsense.'

  "It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate

  man. I went about, however, with a heart which was full of

  forebodings.

  "On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went

  from home to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is

  in command of one of the forts upon Portsdown Hill. I was glad

  that he should go, for it seemed to me that he was farther from

  danger when he was away from home. In that, however, I was in

  error. Upon the second day of his absence I received a telegram

  fr
om the major, imploring me to come at once. My father had

  fallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which abound in the

  neighborhood, and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull. I

  hurried to him, but he passed away without having ever recovered

  his consciousness. He had, as it appears, been returning from

  Fareham in the twilight, and as the country was unknown to him,

  and the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation in

  bringing in a verdict of 'death from accidental causes.'

  Carefully as I examined every fact connected with his death, I

  was unable to find anything which could suggest the idea of

  murder. There were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no

  robbery, no record of strangers having been seen upon the roads.

  And yet I need not tell you that my mind was far from at ease,

  and that I was well-nigh certain that some foul plot had been

  woven round him.

  "In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will ask me

  why I did not dispose of it? I answer, because I was well

  convinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon an

  incident in my uncle's life, and that the danger would be as

  pressing in one house as in another.

  "It was in January, '85, that my poor father met his end, and two

  years and eight months have elapsed since then. During that time

  I have lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that

  this curse had passed way from the family, and that it had ended

  with the last generation. I had begun to take comfort too soon,

  however; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in

  which it had come upon my father."

  The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and

  turning to the table he shook out upon it five little dried

  orange pips.

  "This is the envelope," he continued. "The postmark is

  London--eastern division. Within are the very words which were

  upon my father's last message: 'K. K. K.'; and then 'Put the

  papers on the sundial.'"

  "What have you done?" asked Holmes.

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing?"

  "To tell the truth"--he sank his face into his thin, white

  hands--"I have felt helpless. I have felt like one of those poor

  rabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. I seem to be in

  the grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresight

  and no precautions can guard against."

  "Tut! tut!" cried Sherlock Holmes. "You must act, man, or you are

  lost. Nothing but energy can save you. This is no time for

  despair."

  "I have seen the police."

  "Ah!"

  "But they listened to my story with a smile. I am convinced that

  the inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all

  practical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were really

  accidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected with

  the warnings."

  Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. "Incredible

  imbecility!" he cried.

  "They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in

  the house with me."

  "Has he come with you to-night?"

  "No. His orders were to stay in the house."

  Again Holmes raved in the air.

  "Why did you come to me," he cried, "and, above all, why did you

  not come at once?"

  "I did not know. It was only to-day that I spoke to Major

  Prendergast about my troubles and was advised by him to come to

  you."

  "It is really two days since you had the letter. We should have

  acted before this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, than

  that which you have placed before us--no suggestive detail which

  might help us?"

  "There is one thing," said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coat

  pocket, and, drawing out a piece of discolored, blue-tinted

  paper, he laid it out upon the table. "I have some remembrance,"

  said he, "that on the day when my uncle burned the papers I

  observed that the small, unburned margins which lay amid the

  ashes were of this particular color. I found this single sheet

  upon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think that it

  may be one of the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from

  among the others, and in that way has escaped destruction. Beyond

  the mention of pips, I do not see that it helps us much. I think

  myself that it is a page from some private diary. The writing is

  undoubtedly my uncle's."

  Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper,

  which showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from

  a book. It was headed, "March, 1869," and beneath were the

  following enigmatical notices:

  4th. Hudson came. Same old platform.

  7th. Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain, of St.

  Augustine.

  9th. McCauley cleared.

  10th. John Swain cleared.

  12th. Visited Paramore. All well.

  "Thank you!" said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it

  to our visitor. "And now you must on no account lose another

  instant. We cannot spare time even to discuss what you have told

  me. You must get home instantly and act."

  "What shall I do?"

  "There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You must

  put this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass

  box which you have described. You must also put in a note to say

  that all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that

  this is the only one which remains. You must assert that in such

  words as will carry conviction with them. Having done this, you

  must at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed. Do

  you understand?"

  "Entirely."

  "Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. I

  think that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our

  web to weave, while theirs is already woven. The first

  consideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatens

  you. The second is to clear up the mystery and to punish the

  guilty parties."

  "I thank you," said the young man, rising and pulling on his

  overcoat. "You have given me fresh life and hope. I shall

  certainly do as you advise."

  "Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourself in

  the meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that

  you are threatened by a very real and imminent danger. How do you

  go back?

  "By train from Waterloo."

  "It is not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I trust that

  you may be in safety. And yet you cannot guard yourself too

  closely."

  "I am armed."

  "That is well. To-morrow I shall set to work upon your case."

  "I shall see you at Horsham, then?"

  "No, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seek

  it."

  "Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news

  as to the box and the papers. I shall take your advice in every

  particular." He shook hands with us and took his leave. Outside

  the wind still screamed and the rain splashed and pattered

/>   against the windows. This strange, wild story seemed to have come

  to us from amid the mad elements--blown in upon us like a sheet

  of sea-weed in a gale--and now to have been reabsorbed by them

  once more.

  Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk

  forward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Then he

  lit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue

  smoke-rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling.

  "I think, Watson," he remarked at last, "that of all our cases we

  have had none more fantastic than this."

  "Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four."

  "Well, yes. Save, perhaps, that. And yet this John Openshaw seems

  to me to be walking amid even greater perils than did the

  Sholtos."

  "But have you," I asked, "formed any definite conception as to

  what these perils are?"

  "There can be no question as to their nature," he answered.

  "Then what are they? Who is this K. K. K., and why does he pursue

  this unhappy family?"

  Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the

  arms of his chair, with his finger-tips together. "The ideal

  reasoner," he remarked, "would, when he had once been shown a

  single fact in all its bearings, deduce from it not only all the

  chain of events which led up to it but also all the results which

  would follow from it. As Cuvier could correctly describe a whole

  animal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the observer who

  has thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents

  should be able to accurately state all the other ones, both

  before and after. We have not yet grasped the results which the

  reason alone can attain to. Problems may be solved in the study

  which have baffled all those who have sought a solution by the

  aid of their senses. To carry the art, however, to its highest

  pitch, it is necessary that the reasoner should be able to

  utilize all the facts which have come to his knowledge; and this

  in itself implies, as you will readily see, a possession of all

  knowledge, which, even in these days of free education and

  encyclopaedias, is a somewhat rare accomplishment. It is not so

  impossible, however, that a man should possess all knowledge

  which is likely to be useful to him in his work, and this I have

  endeavored in my case to do. If I remember rightly, you on one

  occasion, in the early days of our friendship, defined my limits

  in a very precise fashion."

  "Yes," I answered, laughing. "It was a singular document.

  Philosophy, astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, I

  remember. Botany variable, geology profound as regards the

  mud-stains from any region within fifty miles of town, chemistry

  eccentric, anatomy unsystematic, sensational literature and crime

  records unique, violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and

  self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. Those, I think, were the

  main points of my analysis."

  Holmes grinned at the last item. "Well," he said, "I say now, as

  I said then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic

  stocked with all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the

  rest he can put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he

  can get it if he wants it. Now, for such a case as the one which

  has been submitted to us to-night, we need certainly to muster

  all our resources. Kindly hand me down the letter K of the

  American Encyclopaedia which stands upon the shelf beside you.

  Thank you. Now let us consider the situation and see what may be

  deduced from it. In the first place, we may start with a strong

  presumption that Colonel Openshaw had some very strong reason for

  leaving America. Men at his time of life do not change all their

  habits and exchange willingly the charming climate of Florida for

  the lonely life of an English provincial town. His extreme love

  of solitude in England suggests the idea that he was in fear of

  someone or something, so we may assume as a working hypothesis