time I reached home. My companion's book and pipe lay by his chair,
but he had disappeared. I looked about in the hope of seeing a note,
but there was none.
"I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out," I said to Mrs.
Hudson as she came up to lower the blinds.
"No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you know, sir," sinking
her voice into an impressive whisper, "I am afraid for his health."
"Why so, Mrs. Hudson?"
"Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he
walked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound
of his footstep. Then I heard him talking to himself and muttering,
and every time the bell rang out he came on the stairhead, with
`What is that, Mrs. Hudson?' And now he has slammed off to his room,
but I can hear him walking away the same as ever. I hope he's not
going to be ill, sir. I ventured to say something to him about cool.
medicine, but he turned on me, sir, with such a look that I don't know
how ever I got out of the room."
"I don't think that you have any cause to be uneasy, Mrs. Hudson," I
answered. "I have seen him like this before. He has some small
matter upon his mind which makes him restless."
I tried to speak lightly to our worthy landlady, but I was myself
somewhat uneasy when through the long night I still from time to
time heard the dull sound of his tread, and knew how his keen spirit
was chafing against this involuntary inaction.
At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a little fleck of
feverish colour upon either cheek.
"You are knocking yourself up, old man," I remarked. "I heard you
marching about in the night."
"No, I could not sleep," he answered. "This infernal problem is
consuming me. It is too much to be balked by so petty an obstacle,
when all else had been overcome. I know the men, the launch,
everything; and yet I can get no news. I have set other agencies at
work and used every means at my disposal. The whole river has been
searched on either side, but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smith
heard of her husband. I shall come to the conclusion soon that they
have scuttled the craft. But there are objections to that."
"Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong scent."
"No, I think that may be dismissed. I had inquiries made, and
there is a launch of that description."
"Could it have gone up the river?"
"I have considered that possibility, too and there is a search-party
who will work up as far as Richmond. If no news comes to-day I shall
start off myself tomorrow and go for the men rather than the boat. But
surely, surely, we shall hear something."
We did not, however. Not a word came to us either from Wiggins or
from the other agencies. There were articles in most of the papers
upon the Norwood tragedy. They all appeared to be rather hostile to
the unfortunate Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details were to be found,
however, in any of them, save that an inquest was to be held upon
the following day. I walked over to Camberwell in the evening to
report our ill-success to the ladies, and on my return I found
Holmes dejected and somewhat morose. He would hardly reply to my
questions and busied himself all evening in an obtruse chemical
analysis which involved much heating of retorts and distilling of
vapours, ending at last in a smell which fairly drove me out of the
apartment. Up to the small hours of the morning I could hear the
clinking of his test-tubes which told me that he was still engaged
in his malodorous experiment.
In the early dawn I woke with a start and was surprised to find
him standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with a
pea-jacket and a coarse red scarf round his neck.
"I am off down the river, Watson," said he. "I have been turning
it over in my mind, and I can see only one way out of it. It is
worth trying, at all events."
"Surely I can come with you, then?" said I.
"No; you can be much more useful if you will remain here as my
representative. I am loath to go, for it is quite on the cards that
some message may come during the day, though Wiggins was despondent
about it last night. I want you to open all notes and telegrams, and
to act on your own judgment if any news should come. Can I rely upon
you?"
"Most certainly."
"I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for I can
hardly tell yet where I may find myself. If I am in luck, however, I
may not be gone so very long. I shall have news of some sort or
other before I get back."
I had heard nothing of him by breakfast time. On opening the
Standard, however, I found that there was a fresh allusion to the
business.
With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy [it remarked] we have
reason to believe that the matter promises to be even more complex and
mysterious than was originally supposed. Fresh evidence has shown that
it is quite impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto could have been in any
way concerned in the matter. He and the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone,
were both released yesterday evening. It is believed, however, that
the police have a clue as to the real culprits, and that it is being
prosecuted by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with all his
well-known energy and sagacity. Further arrests may be expected at any
moment.
"That is satisfactory so far as it goes," thought I. "Friend
Sholto is safe, at any rate. I wonder what the fresh clue may be,
though it seems to be a stereotyped form whenever the police have made
a blunder."
I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my eye
caught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in this way:
Lost- Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son Jim, left Smith's
Wharf at or about three o'clock last Tuesday morning in the steam
launch Aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel black with a white
band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to anyone who can give
information to Mrs. Smith, at Smith's Wharf, or at 221B, Baker Street,
as to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith and the launch
Aurora.
This was clearly Holmes's doing. The Baker Street address was enough
to prove that. It struck me as rather ingenious because it might be
read by the fugitives without their seeing in it more than the natural
anxiety of a wife for her missing husband.
It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the door or a
sharp step passed in the street, I imagined that it was either
Holmes returning or an answer to his advertisement. I tried to read,
but my thoughts would wander off to our strange quest and to the
ill-assorted and villainous pair whom we were pursuing. Could there
be, I wondered, some radical flaw in my companion's reasoning? Might
he not be suffering from some huge self-deception? Was it not possible
that his nimble and speculative mind had built up this wild theory
upon faulty premises? I had never known him to be wrong, and yet the
keenest reasoner may occasionally be deceived. He was likely, I
thought, to fall into error through the over-refinement of his
logic- his preference for a subtle and bizarre explanation when a
plainer and more commonplace one lay ready to his hand. Yet, on the
other hand, I had myself seen the evidence, and I had heard the
reasons for his deductions. When I looked back on the long chain of
curious circumstances, many of them trivial in themselves but all
tending in the same direction, I could not disguise from myself that
even if Holmes's explanation were incorrect the true theory must be
equally outre and startling.
At three o'clock on the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell,
an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a
person than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very different
was he, however, from the brusque and masterful professor of common
sense who had taken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His
expression was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic.
"Good-day, sir, good-day," said he. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out, I
understand."
"Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But perhaps you
would care to wait. Take that chair and try one of these cigars."
"Thank you; I don't mind if I do," said he, mopping his face with
a red bandanna handkerchief.
"And a whisky and soda?"
"Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year, and I have
had a good deal to worry and try me. You know my theory about this
Norwood case?"
"I remember that you expressed one."
"Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net drawn
tightly round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in
the middle of it. He was able to prove an alibi which could not be
shaken. From the time that he left his brothers room he was never
out of sight of someone or other. So it could not be he who climbed
over roofs and through trapdoors. It's a very dark case, and my
professional credit is at stake. I should be very glad of a little
assistance."
"We all need help sometimes," said I.
"Your friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, is a wonderful man, sir," said he
in a husky and confidential voice. "He's a man who is not to be
beat. I have known that young man go into a good many cases, but I
never saw the case yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is
irregular in his methods and a little quick perhaps in jumping at
theories, but, on the whole, I think he would have made a most
promising officer, and I don't care who knows it. I have had a wire
from him this morning, by which I understand that he has got some clue
to this Sholto business. Here is his message."
He took the telegram out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was
dated from Poplar at twelve o'clock.
Go to Baker Street at once [it said]. If I have not returned, wait
for me. I am close on the track of the Sholto gang. You can come
with us to-night if you want to be in at the finish.
"This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent again," said
I.
"Ah, then he has been at fault too," exclaimed Jones with evident
satisfaction. "Even the best of us are thrown off sometimes. Of course
this may prove to be a false alarm but it is my duty as an officer
of the law to allow no chance to slip. But there is someone at the
door. Perhaps this is he."
A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing
and rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath. Once
or twice he stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at
last he made his way to our door and entered. His appearance
corresponded to the sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man,
clad in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his
throat. His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing
was painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his
shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into his lungs. He
had a coloured scarf round his chin, and I could see little of his
face save a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows
and long gray side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a
respectable master mariner who had fallen into years and poverty.
"What is it, my man?" I asked.
He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age.
"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?" said he.
"No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any message you have
for him."
"It was to him himself I was to tell it," said he.
"But I tell you that I am acting for him. Was it about Mordecai
Smith's boat?"
"Yes. I knows well where it is. An' I knows where the men he is
after are. An' I knows where the treasure is. I knows all about it."
"Then tell me, and I shall let him know."
"It was to him I was to tell it," he repeated with the petulant
obstinacy of a very old man.
"Well, you must wait for him."
"No, no; I ain't goin' to lose a whole day to please no one. If
Mr. Holmes ain't here, then Mr. Holmes must find it all out for
himself. I don't care about the look of either of you, and I won't
tell a word."
He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front of
him.
"Wait a bit, my friend," said he. "You have important information,
and you must not walk off. We shall keep you, whether you like or not,
until our friend returns."
The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as Athelney
Jones put his broad back up against it, he recognized the
uselessness of resistance.
"Pretty sort o' treatment this!" he cried, stamping his stick. "I
come here to see a gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in my life,
seize me and treat me in this fashion!"
"You will be none the worse," I said. "We shall recompense you for
the loss of your time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you will not
have long to wait."
He came across sullenly enough and seated himself with his face
resting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars and our talk.
Suddenly, however, Holmes's voice broke in upon us.
"I think that you might offer me a cigar too," he said.
We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting close to
us with an air of quiet amusement.
"Holmes!' I exclaimed. "You here! But where is the old man?"
"Here is the old man" said he, holding out a heap of white hair.
"Here he is, wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my disguise
was pretty good, but I hardly expected that it would stand that test."
