daughter of Augusto Barelli, who was the chief lawyer and once the
deputy of that part. Gennaro was in my father's employment, and I
came to love him, as any woman must. He had neither money nor
position--nothing but his beauty and strength and energy--so my
father forbade the match. We fled together, were married at Bari, and
sold my jewels to gain the money which would take us to America. This
was four years ago, and we have been in New York ever since.
"Fortune was very good to us at first. Gennaro was able to do a
service to an Italian gentleman--he saved him from some ruffians in
the place called the Bowery, and so made a powerful friend. His name
was Tito Castalotte, and he was the senior partner of the great firm
of Castalotte and Zamba, who are the chief fruit importers of New
York. Signor Zamba is an invalid, and our new friend Castalotte has
all power within the firm, which employs more than three hundred men.
He took my husband into his employment, made him head of a
department, and showed his good-will towards him in every way. Signor
Castalotte was a bachelor, and I believe that he felt as if Gennaro
was his son, and both my husband and I loved him as if he were our
father. We had taken and furnished a little house in Brooklyn, and
our whole future seemed assured when that black cloud appeared which
was soon to overspread our sky.
"One night, when Gennaro returned from his work, he brought a
fellow-countryman back with him. His name was Gorgiano, and he had
come also from Posilippo. He was a huge man, as you can testify, for
you have looked upon his corpse. Not only was his body that of a
giant but everything about him was grotesque, gigantic, and
terrifying. His voice was like thunder in our little house. There was
scarce room for the whirl of his great arms as he talked. His
thoughts, his emotions, his passions, all were exaggerated and
monstrous. He talked, or rather roared, with such energy that others
could but sit and listen, cowed with the mighty stream of words. His
eyes blazed at you and held you at his mercy. He was a terrible and
wonderful man. I thank God that he is dead!
"He came again and again. Yet I was aware that Gennaro was no more
happy than I was in his presence. My poor husband would sit pale and
listless, listening to the endless raving upon politics and upon
social questions which made up or visitor's conversation. Gennaro
said nothing, but I, who knew him so well, could read in his face
some emotion which I had never seen there before. At first I thought
that it was dislike. And then, gradually, I understood that it was
more than dislike. It was fear--a deep, secret, shrinking fear. That
night--the night that I read his terror--I put my arms round him and
I implored him by his love for me and by all that he held dear to
hold nothing from me, and to tell me why this huge man overshadowed
him so.
"He told me, and my own heart grew cold as ice as I listened. My poor
Gennaro, in his wild and fiery days, when all the world seemed
against him and his mind was driven half mad by the injustices of
life, had joined a Neapolitan society, the Red Circle, which was
allied to the old Carbonari. The oaths and secrets of this
brotherhood were frightful, but once within its rule no escape was
possible. When we had fled to America Gennaro thought that he had
cast it all off forever. What was his horror one evening to meet in
the streets the very man who had initiated him in Naples, the giant
Gorgiano, a man who had earned the name of 'Death' in the south of
Italy, for he was red to the elbow in murder! He had come to New York
to avoid the Italian police, and he had already planted a branch of
this dreadful society in his new home. All this Gennaro told me and
showed me a summons which he had received that very day, a Red Circle
drawn upon the head of it telling him that a lodge would be held upon
a certain date, and that his presence at it was required and ordered.
"That was bad enough, but worse was to come. I had noticed for some
time that when Gorgiano came to us, as he constantly did, in the
evening, he spoke much to me; and even when his words were to my
husband those terrible, glaring, wild-beast eyes of his were always
turned upon me. One night his secret came out. I had awakened what he
called 'love' within him--the love of a brute--a savage. Gennaro had
not yet returned when he came. He pushed his way in, seized me in his
mighty arms, hugged me in his bear's embrace, covered me with kisses,
and implored me to come away with him. I was struggling and screaming
when Gennaro entered and attacked him. He struck Gennaro senseless
and fled from the house which he was never more to enter. It was a
deadly enemy that we made that night.
"A few days later came the meeting. Gennaro returned from it with a
face which told me that something dreadful had occurred. It was worse
than we could have imagined possible. The funds of the society were
raised by blackmailing rich Italians and threatening them with
violence should they refuse the money. It seems that Castalotte, our
dear friend and benefactor, had been approached. He had refused to
yield to threats, and he had handed the notices to the police. It was
resolved now that such an example should be made of them as would
prevent any other victim from rebelling. At the meeting it was
arranged that he and his house should be blown up with dynamite.
There was a drawing of lots as to who should carry out the deed.
Gennaro saw our enemy's cruel face smiling at him as he dipped his
hand in the bag. No doubt it had been prearranged in some fashion,
for it was the fatal disc with the Red Circle upon it, the mandate
for murder, which lay upon his palm. He was to kill his best friend,
or he was to expose himself and me to the vengeance of his comrades.
It was part of their fiendish system to punish those whom they feared
or hated by injuring not only their own persons but those whom they
loved, and it was the knowledge of this which hung as a terror over
my poor Gennaro's head and drove him nearly crazy with apprehension.
"All that night we sat together, our arms round each other, each
strengthening each for the troubles that lay before us. The very next
evening had been fixed for the attempt. By midday my husband and I
were on our way to London, but not before he had given our benefactor
full warning of this danger, and had also left such information for
the police as would safeguard his life for the future.
"The rest, gentlemen, you know for yourselves. We were sure that our
enemies would be behind us like our own shadows. Gorgiano had his
private reasons for vengeance, but in any case we knew how ruthless,
cunning, and untiring he could be. Both Italy and America are full of
stories of his dreadful powers. If ever they were exerted it would be
now. My darling made use of the few clear days which our start had
given us in arranging for a refuge for me in such a fashion that no
possible danger could reach me. For his own part, he wished to be
free that he might communicate both with the American and with the
Italian police. I do not myself know where he lived, or how. All that
I learned was through the columns of a newspaper. But once as I
looked through my window, I saw two Italians watching the house, and
I understood that in some way Gorgiano had found our retreat. Finally
Gennaro told me, through the paper, that he would signal to me from a
certain window, but when the signals came they were nothing but
warnings, which were suddenly interrupted. It is very clear to me now
that he knew Gorgiano to be close upon him, and that, thank God! he
was ready for him when he came. And now, gentleman, I would ask you
whether we have anything to fear from the law, or whether any judge
upon earth would condemn my Gennaro for what he has done?"
"Well, Mr. Gregson," said the American, looking across at the
official, "I don't know what your British point of view may be, but I
guess that in New York this lady's husband will receive a pretty
general vote of thanks."
"She will have to come with me and see the chief," Gregson answered.
"If what she says is corroborated, I do not think she or her husband
has much to fear. But what I can't make head or tail of, Mr. Holmes,
is how on earth you got yourself mixed up in the matter."
"Education, Gregson, education. Still seeking knowledge at the old
university. Well, Watson, you have one more specimen of the tragic
and grotesque to add to your collection. By the way, it is not eight
o'clock, and a Wagner night at Covent Garden! If we hurry, we might
be in time for the second act."
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS
In the third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fog
settled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday I doubt
whether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Street to see
the loom of the opposite houses. The first day Holmes had spent in
cross-indexing his huge book of references. The second and third had
been patiently occupied upon a subject which he hand recently made
his hobby--the music of the Middle Ages. But when, for the fourth
time, after pushing back our chairs from breakfast we saw the greasy,
heavy brown swirl still drifting past us and condensing in oily drops
upon the window-panes, my comrade's impatient and active nature could
endure this drab existence no longer. He paced restlessly about our
sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails,
tapping the furniture, and chafing against inaction.
"Nothing of interest in the paper, Watson?" he said.
In was aware that by anything of interest, Holmes meant anything of
criminal interest. There was the news of a revolution, of a possible
war, and of an impending change of government; but these did not come
within the horizon of my companion. I could see nothing recorded in
the shape of crime which was not commonplace and futile. Holmes
groaned and resumed hs restless meanderings.
"The London criminal is certainly a dull fellow," said he in the
querulous voice of the sportsman whose game has failed him. "Look out
this window, Watson. See how the figures loom up, are dimly seen, and
then blend once more into the cloud-bank. The thief or the murderer
could roam London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen
until he pounces, and then evident only to his victim."
"There have," said I, "been numerous petty thefts."
Holmes snorted his contempt.
"This great and sombre stage is set for something more worthy than
that," said he. "It is fortunate for this community that I am not a
criminal."
"It is, indeed!" said I heartily.
"Suppose that I were Brooks or Woodhouse, or any of the fifty men who
have good reason for taking my life, how long could I survive against
my own pursuit? A summons, a bogus appointment, and all would be
over. It is well they don't have days of fog in the Latin
countries--the countries of assassination. By Jove! here comes
something at last to break our dead monotony."
It was the maid with a telegram. Holmes tore it open and burst out
laughing.
"Well, well! What next?" said he. "Brother Mycroft is coming round."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Why not? It is as if you met a tram-car coming down a country lane.
Mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. His Pall Mall lodgings,
the Diogenes Club, Whitehall--that is his cycle. Once, and only once,
he has been here. What upheaval can possibly have derailed him?"
"Does he not explain?"
Holmes handed me his brother's telegram.
Must see you over Cadogen West. Coming at once.
Mycroft.
"Cadogen West? I have heard the name."
"It recalls nothing to my mind. But that Mycroft should break out in
this erratic fashion! A planet might as well leave its orbit. By the
way, do you know what Mycroft is?"
I had some vague recollection of an explanation at the time of the
Adventure of the Greek Interpreter.
"You told me that he had some small office under the British
government."
Holmes chuckled.
"I did not know you quite so well in those days. One has to be
discreet when one talks of high matters of state. You are right in
thinking that he under the British government. You would also be
right in a sense if you said that occasionally he is the British
government."
"My dear Holmes!"
"I thought I might surprise you. Mycroft draws four hundred and fifty
pounds a year, remains a subordinate, has no ambitions of any kind,
will receive neither honour nor title, but remains the most
indispensable man in the country."
"But how?"
"Well, his position is unique. He has made it for himself. There has
never been anything like it before, nor will be again. He has the
tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest capacity for
