The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

remarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists.

  "You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have

  the goodness, also, when you address me always to say 'sir' and

  'please.'"

  "All right," said Jones with a stare and a snigger. "Well, would

  you please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry

  your Highness to the police-station?"

  "That is better," said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bow

  to the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the

  detective.

  "Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather as we followed them

  from the cellar, "I do not know how the bank can thank you or

  repay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated

  in the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts

  at bank robbery that have ever come within my experience."

  "I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr.

  John Clay," said Holmes. "I have been at some small expense over

  this matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond

  that I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in

  many ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of

  the Red-headed League."

  "You see, Watson," he explained in the early hours of the morning

  as we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, "it

  was perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible

  object of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of

  the League, and the copying of the Encyclopaedia, must be to get

  this not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number of

  hours every day. It was a curious way of managing it, but,

  really, it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was

  no doubt suggested to Clay's ingenious mind by the color of his

  accomplice's hair. The 4 pounds a week was a lure which must draw

  him, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands?

  They put in the advertisement, one rogue has the temporary

  office, the other rogue incites the man to apply for it. and

  together they manage to secure his absence every morning in the

  week. From the time that I heard of the assistant having come for

  half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive

  for securing the situation."

  "But how could you guess what the motive was?"

  "Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a

  mere vulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. The

  man's business was a small one, and there was nothing in his

  house which could account for such elaborate preparations, and

  such an expenditure as they were at. It must, then, be something

  out of the house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant's

  fondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the

  cellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangled clew. Then

  I made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that I

  had to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in

  London. He was doing something in the cellar--something which

  took many hours a day for months on end. What could it be, once

  more? I could think of nothing save that he was running a tunnel

  to some other building.

  "So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I

  surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was

  ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind.

  It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the

  assistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had

  never set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his

  face. His knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself have

  remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of

  those hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was what they

  were burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City and

  Suburban Bank abutted on our friend's premises, and felt that I

  had solved my problem. When you drove home after the concert I

  called upon Scotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bank

  directors, with the result that you have seen."

  "And how could you tell that they would make their attempt

  to-night?" I asked.

  "Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that

  they cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence--in other

  words, that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential

  that they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the

  bullion might be removed. Saturday would suit them better than

  any other day, as it would give them two days for their escape.

  For all these reasons I expected them to come to-night."

  "You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed in unfeigned

  admiration "It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings

  true."

  "It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I already

  feel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort

  to escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little

  problems help me to do so."

  "And you are a benefactor of the race," said I.

  He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, perhaps, after all, it is of

  some little use," he remarked. " 'L'homme c'est rien--l'oeuvre

  c'est tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand."

  ADVENTURE III. A CASE OF IDENTITY

  "My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side

  of the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, "life is infinitely

  stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We

  would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere

  commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window

  hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the

  roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the

  strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the

  wonderful chains of events, working through generation, and

  leading to the most outre results, it would make all fiction with

  its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and

  unprofitable."

  "And yet I am not convinced of it," I answered. "The cases which

  come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and

  vulgar enough. We have in our police reports realism pushed to

  its extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed,

  neither fascinating nor artistic."

  "A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a

  realistic effect," remarked Holmes. "This is wanting in the

  police report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the

  platitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an

  observer contain the vital essence of the whole matter. Depend

  upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace."

  I smiled and shook my head. "I can quite understand your thinking

  so." I said. "Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser

  and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout

  three continents, you are brought in contact with all that is

  strange and bizarre. But here"--I picked up the morning paper

/>   from the ground--"let us put it to a practical test. Here is the

  first heading upon which I come. 'A husband's cruelty to his

  wife.' There is half a column of print, but I know without

  reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is, of

  course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the

  bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of

  writers could invent nothing more crude."

  "Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument,"

  said Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. "This

  is the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged

  in clearing up some small points in connection with it. The

  husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the

  conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit of

  winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling

  them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely

  to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. Take a

  pinch of snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over

  you in your example."

  He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in

  the centre of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to his

  homely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting upon

  it.

  "Ah," said he, "I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks.

  It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my

  assistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers."

  "And the ring?" I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which

  sparkled upon his finger.

  "It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in

  which I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it

  even to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or two of

  my little problems."

  "And have you any on hand just now?" I asked with interest.

  "Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of

  interest. They are important, you understand, without being

  interesting. Indeed, I have found that it is usually in

  unimportant matters that there is a field for the observation,

  and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives the

  charm to an investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the

  simpler, for the bigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is

  the motive. In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter

  which has been referred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing

  which presents any features of interest. It is possible, however,

  that I may have something better before very many minutes are

  over, for this is one of my clients, or I am much mistaken."

  He had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted

  blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London street.

  Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite

  there stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck,

  and a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was

  tilted in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her

  ear. From under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous,

  hesitating fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated

  backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove

  buttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves

  the bank, she hurried across the road, and we heard the sharp

  clang of the bell.

  "I have seen those symptoms before," said Holmes, throwing his

  cigarette into the fire. "Oscillation upon the pavement always

  means an affaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is not sure

  that the matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet

  even here we may discriminate. When a woman has been seriously

  wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom

  is a broken bell wire. Here we may take it that there is a love

  matter, but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or

  grieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our doubts."

  As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons.

  entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself

  loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed

  merchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed

  her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and,

  having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked

  her over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion which was

  peculiar to him.

  "Do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is a

  little trying to do so much typewriting?"

  "I did at first," she answered, "but now I know where the letters

  are without looking." Then, suddenly realizing the full purport

  of his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear

  and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. "You've

  heard about me, Mr. Holmes," she cried, "else how could you know

  all that?"

  "Never mind," said Holmes, laughing; "it is my business to know

  things. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others

  overlook. If not, why should you come to consult me?"

  "I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege,

  whose husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had

  given him up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as

  much for me. I'm not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in

  my own right, besides the little that I make by the machine, and

  I would give it all to know what has become of Mr. Hosmer Angel."

  "Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?" asked

  Sherlock Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to

  the ceiling.

  Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss

  Mary Sutherland. "Yes, I did bang out of the house," she said,

  "for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr.

  Windibank--that is, my father--took it all. He would not go to

  the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he

  would do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done,

  it made me mad, and I just on with my things and came right away

  to you."

  "Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather, surely, since the

  name is different."

  "Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny,

  too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself."

  "And your mother is alive?"

  "Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr.

  Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death, and

  a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father

  was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy

  business behind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the

  foreman; but when Mr. Windibank came he made her sell the

  business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in wines.

  They got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and interest, which wasn't

  near as much as father could have got if he had been alive."

  I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this

  rambling and inconsequential
narrative, but, on the contrary he

  had listened with the greatest concentration of attention.

  "Your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of the

  business?"

  "Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle

  Ned in Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2 per

  cent. Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can

  only touch the interest."

  "You interest me extremely," said Holmes. "And since you draw so

  large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the

  bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in

  every way. I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely

  upon an income of about 60 pounds."

  "I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you

  understand that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be a

  burden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while

  I am staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the

  time. Mr. Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it

  over to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I

  earn at typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can

  often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a-day."

  "You have made your position very clear to me," said Holmes.

  "This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as

  freely as before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your

  connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel."

  A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she picked

  nervously at the fringe of her jacket. "I met him first at the

  gasfitters' ball," she said. "They used to send father tickets

  when he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and

  sent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go. He

  never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I

  wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time I

  was set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to

  prevent? He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all

  father's friends were to be there. And he said that I had nothing

  fit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never so much

  as taken out of the drawer. At last, when nothing else would do,

  he went off to France upon the business of the firm, but we went,

  mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it

  was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel."

  "I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr. Windibank came back from

  France he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball."

  "Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember, and

  shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying

  anything to a woman, for she would have her way."

  "I see. Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, a

  gentleman called Mr. Hosmer Angel."

  "Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if

  we had got home all safe, and after that we met him--that is to

  say, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that father

  came back again, and Mr. Hosmer Angel could not come to the house

  any more."

  "No?"

  "Well, you know father didn't like anything of the sort. He

  wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to

  say that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But

  then, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to

  begin with, and I had not got mine yet."

  "But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt to see

  you?"

  "Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer

  wrote and said that it would be safer and better not to see each

  other until he had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he

  used to write every day. I took the letters in in the morning, so

  there was no need for father to know."

  "Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?"

  "Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that

  we took. Hosmer--Mr. Angel--was a cashier in an office in