mind my bein' just a little short wi' you at first, for I'm guyed at
by the children, and there's many a one just comes down this lane to
knock me up. What was it that Mr. Sherlock Holmes wanted, sir?"
"He wanted a dog of yours."
"Ah! that would be Toby."
"Yes, Toby was the name."
"Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here."
He moved slowly forward with his candle among the queer animal
family which he had gathered round him. In the uncertain, shadowy
light I could see dimly that there were glancing, glimmering eyes
peeping down at us from every cranny and corner. Even the rafters
above our heads were lined by solemn fowls, who lazily shifted their
weight from one leg to the other as our voices disturbed their
slumbers.
Toby proved to be an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, half
spaniel and half lurcher, brown and white in colour, with a very
clumsy, waddling gait. It accepted, after some hesitation, a lump of
sugar which the old naturalist handed to me, and, having thus sealed
an alliance, it followed me to the cab and made no difficulties
about accompanying me. It had just struck three on the Palace clock
when I found myself back once more at Pondicherry Lodge. The
ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I found, been arrested as an
accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had been marched off to the
station. Two constables guarded the narrow gate, but they allowed me
to pass with the dog on my mentioning the detective's name.
Holmes was standing on the doorstep with his hands in his pockets,
smoking his pipe.
"Ah, you have him there!" said he. "Good dog, then! Athelney Jones
has gone. We have had an immense display of energy since you left.
He has arrested not only friend Thaddeus but the gatekeeper, the
housekeeper, and the Indian servant. We have the place to ourselves
but for a sergeant upstairs. Leave the dog here and come up."
We tied Toby to the hall table and reascended the stairs. The room
was as we had left it, save that a sheet had been draped over the
central figure. A weary looking police-sergeant reclined in the
corner.
"Lend me your bull's eye, Sergeant," said my companion. "Now tie
this bit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in front of me. Thank
you. Now I must kick off my boots and stockings. just you carry them
down with you, Watson. I am going to do a little climbing. And dip
my handkerchief into the creosote. That will do. Now come up into
the garret with me for a moment."
We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his light once
more upon the footsteps in the dust.
"I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks," he said. "Do
you observe anything noteworthy about them?"
"They belong," I said, "to a child or a small woman."
"Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing else?"
"They appear to be much as other footmarks."
"Not at all. Look here! This is the print of a right foot in the
dust. Now I make one with my naked foot beside it. What is the chief
difference?"
"Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has each toe
distinctly divided."
"Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now, would you
kindly step over to that flap-window and smell the edge of the
woodwork? I shall stay over here, as I have this handkerchief in my
hand."
I did as he directed and was instantly conscious of a strong tarry
smell.
"That is where he put his foot in getting out. If you can trace him,
I should think that Toby will have no difficulty. Now run
downstairs, loose the dog, and look out for Blondin."
By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was on
the roof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling very
slowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind a stack of
chimneys, but he presently reappeared and then vanished once more upon
the opposite side. When I made my way round there I found him seated
at one of the corner eaves.
"That you, Watson?" he cried.
"Yes."
"This is the place. What is that black thing down there?"
"A water-barrel."
"Top on it?"
"Yes."
"No sign of the ladder?"
"No."
"Confound the fellow! It's a most breakneck place. I ought to be
able to come down where he could climb up. The water-pipe feels pretty
firm. Here goes, anyhow."
There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come
steadily down the side of the wall. Then with a light spring he came
on to the barrel, and from there to the earth.
"It was easy to follow him," he said, drawing on his stockings and
boots. "Tiles were loosened the whole way along, and in his hurry he
had dropped this. It confirms my diagnosis, as you doctors express
it."
The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch
woven out of coloured grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung round
it. In shape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case. Inside
were half a dozen spines of dark wood, sharp at one end and rounded at
the other, like that which had struck Bartholomew Sholto.
"They are hellish things," said he. "Look out that you don't prick
yourself. I'm delighted to have them, for the chances are that they
are all he has. There is the less fear of you or me finding one in our
skin before long. I would sooner face a Martini bullet, myself. Are
you game for a six-mile trudge, Watson?"
"Certainly," I answered.
"Your leg will stand it?"
"Oh, yes."
"Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, smell it!" He
pushed the creosote handkerchief under the dog's nose, while the
creature stood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a most comical
cock to its head, like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of a
famous vintage. Holmes then threw the handkerchief to a distance,
fastened a stout cord to the mongrel's collar, and led him to the foot
of the water-barrel. The creature instantly broke into a succession of
high, tremulous yelps and, with his nose on the ground and his tail in
the air, pattered off upon the trail at a pace which strained his
leash and kept us at the top of our speed.
The east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see some
distance in the cold gray light. The square, massive house, with its
black, empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up, sad and
forlorn, behind us. Our course led right across the grounds, in and
out among the trenches and pits with which they were scarred and
intersected. The whole place, with its scattered dirt-heaps and
ill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened look which harmonized
with the black tragedy which hung over it.
On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining eagerly,
underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened by a
young beech. Where the two walls joined, several bricks had been
loosened, and the crevices left were worn down and rounded upon the
lower side, as though they had frequently been used as a ladder.
Holmes clambered up, and taking the dog from me he dropped it over
upon the other side.
"There's the print of Wooden-leg's hand," he remarked as I mounted
up beside him. "You see the slight smudge of blood upon the white
plaster. What a lucky thing it is that we have had no very heavy
rain since yesterday! The scent will lie upon the road in spite of
their eight-and-twenty hours' start."
I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected upon the
great traffic which had passed along the London road in the
interval. My fears were soon appeased, however. Toby never hesitated
or swerved but waddled on in his peculiar rolling fashion. Clearly the
pungent smell of the creosote rose high above all other contending
scents.
"Do not imagine," said Holmes, "that I depend for my success in this
case upon the mere chance of one of these fellows having put his
foot in the chemical. I have knowledge now which would enable me to
trace them in many different ways. This, however, is the readiest,
and, since fortune has put it into our hands, I should be culpable
if I neglected it. It has, however, prevented the case from becoming
the pretty little intellectual problem which it at one time promised
to be. There might have been some credit to be gained out of it but
for this too palpable clue."
"There is credit, and to spare," said I. "I assure you, Holmes, that
I marvel at the means by which you obtain your results in this case
even more than I did in the Jefferson Hope murder. The thing seems
to me to be deeper and more inexplicable. How, for example, could
you describe with such confidence the wooden-legged man?"
"Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I don't wish to be
theatrical. It is all patent and above-board. Two officers who are
in command of a convict-guard learn an important secret as to buried
treasure. A map is drawn for them by an Englishman named Jonathan
Small. You remember that we saw the name upon the chart in Captain
Morstan's possession. He had signed it in behalf of himself and his
associates- the sign of the four, as he somewhat dramatically called
it. Aided by this chart, the officers- or one of them- gets the
treasure and brings it to England, leaving, we will suppose, some
condition under which he received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why did
not Jonathan Small get the treasure himself? The answer is obvious.
The chart is dated at a time when Morstan was brought into close
association with convicts. Jonathan Small did not get the treasure
because he and his associates were themselves convicts and could not
get away."
"But this is mere speculation," said I.
"It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis which covers the
facts. Let us see how it fits in with the sequel. Major Sholto remains
at peace for some years, happy in the possession of his treasure. Then
he receives a letter from India which gives him a great fright.
"What was that?"
"A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had been set
free."
"Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he would have known
what their term of imprisonment was. It would not have been a surprise
to him. What does he do then? He guards himself against a
wooden-legged man- a white man, mark you, for he mistakes a white
tradesman for him and actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only one
white man's name is on the chart. The others are Hindoos or
Mohammedans. There is no other white man. Therefore we may say with
confidence that the wooden legged man is identical with Jonathan
Small. Does the reasoning strike you as being faulty?"
"No: it is clear and concise."
"Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan Small. Let
us look at it from his point of view. He comes to England with the
double idea of regaining what he would consider to be his rights and
of having his revenge upon the man who had wronged him. He found out
where Sholto lived, and very possibly he established communications
with someone inside the house. there is this butler, Lal Rao, whom
we have not seen. Mrs. Bernstone gives him far from a good
character. Small could not find out, however, where the treasure was
hid, for no one ever knew save the major and one faithful servant
who had died. Suddenly Small learns that the major is on his deathbed.
In a frenzy lest the secret of the treasure die with him, he runs
the gauntlet of the guards, makes his way to the dying man's window,
and is only deterred from entering by the presence of his two sons.
Mad with hate, however, against the dead man, he enters the room
that night, searches his private papers in the hope of discovering
some memorandum relating to the treasure, and finally leaves a memento
of his visit in the short inscription upon the card. He had
doubtless planned beforehand that, should he slay the major, he
would leave some such record upon the body as a sign that it was not a
common murder but, from the point of view of the four associates,
something in the nature of an act of justice. Whimsical and bizarre
conceits of this kind are common enough in the annals of crime and
usually afford valuable indications as to the criminal. Do you
follow all this?"
"Very clearly."
"Now what could Jonathan Small do? He could only continue to keep
a secret watch upon the efforts made to find the treasure. Possibly he
leaves England and only comes back at intervals. Then comes the
discovery of the garret, and he is instantly informed of it. We
again trace the presence of some confederate in the household.
Jonathan, with his wooden leg, is utterly unable to reach the lofty
room of Bartholomew Sholto. He takes with him, however, a rather
curious associate, who gets over this difficulty but dips his naked
foot creosote, whence come Toby, and a six-mile limp for a half-pay
officer with a damaged tendo Achillis."
"But it was the associate and not Jonathan who committed the crime."
"Quite so. And rather to Jonathan's disgust, to judge by the way
he stamped about when he got into the room. He bore no grudge
against Bartholomew Sholto and would have preferred if he could have
been simply bound and gagged. He did not wish to put his head in a
halter. There was no help for it, however: the savage instincts of his
companion had broken out, and the poison had done its work: so
Jonathan Small left his record, lowered the treasure-box to the
ground, and followed it himself. That was the train of events as far
as I can decipher them. Of course, as to his personal appearance, he
must be middle-aged and must be sunburned after serving his time in
