sprang from her chair and her face was convulsed with surprise and
fear. "See!" she cried. "The miscreant follows still! There is the
very man of whom I speak."
Through the open sitting-room window I saw a huge, swarthy man with a
bristling black beard walking slowly down the centre of the street
and staring eagerly at he numbers of the houses. It was clear that,
like myself, he was on the track of the maid. Acting upon the impulse
of the moment, I rushed out and accosted him.
"You are an Englishman," I said.
"What if I am?" he asked with a most villainous scowl.
"May I ask what your name is?"
"No, you may not," said he with decision.
The situation was awkward, but the most direct way is often the best.
"Where is the Lady Frances Carfax?" I asked.
He stared at me with amazement.
"What have you done with her? Why have you pursued her? I insist upon
an answer!" said I.
The fellow gave a below of anger and sprang upon me like a tiger. I
have held my own in many a struggle, but the man had a grip of iron
and the fury of a fiend. His hand was on my throat and my senses were
nearly gone before an unshaven French ouvrier in a blue blouse darted
out from a cabaret opposite, with a cudgel in his hand, and struck my
assailant a sharp crack over the forearm, which made him leave go his
hold. He stood for an instant fuming with rage and uncertain whether
he should not renew his attack. Then, with a snarl of anger, he left
me and entered the cottage from which I had just come. I turned to
thank my preserver, who stood beside me in the roadway.
"Well, Watson," said he, "a very pretty hash you have made of it! I
rather think you had better come back with me to London by the night
express."
An hour afterwards, Sherlock Holmes, in his usual garb and style, was
seated in my private room at the hotel. His explanation of his sudden
and opportune appearance was simplicity itself, for, finding that he
could get away from London, he determined to head me off at the next
obvious point of my travels. In the disguise of a workingman he had
sat in the cabaret waiting for my appearance.
"And a singularly consistent investigation you have made, my dear
Watson," said he. "I cannot at the moment recall any possible blunder
which you have omitted. The total effect of your proceeding has been
to give the alarm everywhere and yet to discover nothing."
"Perhaps you would have done no better," I answered bitterly.
"There is no 'perhaps' about it. I have done better. Here is the Hon.
Philip Green, who is a fellow-lodger with you in this hotel, and we
may find him the starting-point for a more successful investigation."
A card had come up on a salver, and it was followed by the same
bearded ruffian who had attacked me in the street. He started when he
saw me.
"What is this, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "I had your note and I have
come. But what has this man to do with the matter?"
"This is my old friend and associate, Dr. Watson, who is helping us
in this affair."
The stranger held out a huge, sunburned hand, with a few words of
apology.
"I hope I didn't harm you. When you accused me of hurting her I lost
my grip of myself. Indeed, I'm not responsible in these days. My
nerves are like live wires. But this situation is beyond me. What I
want to know, in the first place, Mr. Holmes, is, how in the world
you came to hear of my existence at all."
"I am in touch with Miss Dobney, Lady Frances's governess."
"Old Susan Dobney with the mob cap! I remember her well."
"And she remembers you. It was in the days before--before you found
it better to go to South Africa."
"Ah, I see you know my whole story. I need hide nothing from you. I
swear to you, Mr. Holmes, that there never was in this world a man
who loved a woman with a more wholehearted love than I had for
Frances. I was a wild youngster, I know--not worse than others of my
class. But her mind was pure as snow. She could not bear a shadow of
coarseness. So, when she came to hear of things that I had done, she
would have no more to say to me. And yet she loved me--that is the
wonder of it!--loved me well enough to remain single all her sainted
days just for my sake alone. When the years had passed and I had made
my money at Barberton I thought perhaps I could seek her out and
soften her. I had heard that she was still unmarried, I found her at
Lausanne and tried all I knew. She weakened, I think, but her will
was strong, and when next I called she had left the town. I traced
her to Baden, and then after a time heard that her maid was here. I'm
a rough fellow, fresh from a rough life, and when Dr. Watson spoke to
me as he did I lost hold of myself for a moment. But for God's sake
tell me what has become of the Lady Frances."
"That is for us to find out," said Sherlock Holmes with peculiar
gravity. "What is your London address, Mr. Green?"
"The Langham Hotel will find me."
"Then may I recommend that you return there and be on hand in case I
should want you? I have no desire to encourage false hopes, but you
may rest assured that all that can be done will be done for the
safety of Lady Frances. I can say no more for the instant. I will
leave you this card so that you may be able to keep in touch with us.
Now, Watson, if you will pack your bag I will cable to Mrs. Hudson to
make one of her best efforts for two hungry travellers at 7.30
to-morrow."
A telegram was awaiting us when we reached our Baker Street rooms,
which Holmes read with an exclamation of interest and threw across to
me. "Jagged or torn," was the message, and the place of origin,
Baden.
"What is this?" I asked.
"It is everything," Holmes answered. "You may remember my seemingly
irrelevant question as to this clerical gentleman's left ear. You did
not answer it."
"I had left Baden and could not inquire."
"Exactly. For this reason I sent a duplicate to the manager of the
Englischer Hof, whose answer lies here."
"What does it show?"
"It shows, my dear Watson, that we are dealing with an exceptionally
astute and dangerous man. The Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, missionary from
South America, is none other than Holy Peters, one of the most
unscrupulous rascals that Australia has ever evolved--and for a young
country it has turned out some very finished types. His particular
specialty is the beguiling of lonely ladies by playing upon their
religious feelings, and his so-called wife, an Englishwoman named
Fraser, is a worthy helpmate. The nature of his tactics suggested his
identity to me, and this physical peculiarity--he was badly bitten in
a saloon-fight at Adelaide in '89--confirmed my suspicion. This poor
lady is in the hands of a most infernal couple, who will stick at
nothing, Watson. That she is already dead is a very likely
supposition. If not, she is undoubtedly in some sort of confinement
and unable to write to Miss Dobney or her other friends. It is always
possible that she never reached London, or that she has passed
through it, but the former is improbable, as, with their system of
registration, it is not easy for foreigners to play tricks with the
Continental police; and the latter is also unlikely, as these rouges
could not hope to find any other place where it would be as easy to
keep a person under restraint. All my instincts tell me that she is
in London, but as we have at present no possible means of telling
where, we can only take the obvious steps, eat our dinner, and
possess our souls in patience. Later in the evening I will stroll
down and have a word with friend Lestrade at Scotland Yard."
But neither the official police nor Holmes's own small but very
efficient organization sufficed to clear away the mystery. Amid the
crowded millions of London the three persons we sought were as
completely obliterated as if they had never lived. Advertisements
were tried, and failed. Clues were followed, and led to nothing.
Every criminal resort which Shlessinger might frequent was drawn in
vain. His old associates were watched, but they kept clear of him.
And then suddenly, after a week of helpless suspense there came a
flash of light. A silver-and-brilliant pendant of old Spanish design
had been pawned at Bovington's, in Westminster Road. The pawner was a
large, clean-shaven man of clerical appearance. His name and address
were demonstrably false. The ear had escaped notice, but the
description was surely that of Shlessinger.
Three times had our bearded friend from the Langham called for
news--the third time within an hour of this fresh development. His
clothes were getting looser on his great body. He seemed to be
wilting away in his anxiety. "If you will only give me something to
do!" was his constant wail. At last Holmes could oblige him.
"He has begun to pawn the jewels. We should get him now."
"But does this mean that any harm has befallen the Lady Frances?"
Holmes shook his head very gravely.
"Supposing that they have held her prisoner up to now, it is clear
that they cannot let her loose without their own destruction. We must
prepare for the worst."
"What can I do?"
"These people do not know you by sight?"
"No."
"It is possible that he will go to some other pawnbroker in the
future. in that case, we must begin again. On the other hand, he has
had a fair price and no questions asked, so if he is in need of
ready-money he will probably come back to Bovington's. I will give
you a note to them, and they will let you wait in the shop. If the
fellow comes you will follow him home. But no indiscretion, and,
above all, no violence. I put you on your honour that you will take
no step without my knowledge and consent."
For two days the Hon. Philip Green (he was, I may mention, the son of
the famous admiral of that name who commanded the Sea of Azof fleet
in the Crimean War) brought us no news. On the evening of the third
he rushed into our sitting-room, pale, trembling, with every muscle
of his powerful frame quivering with excitement.
"We have him! We have him!" he cried.
He was incoherent in his agitation. Holmes soothed him with a few
words and thrust him into an armchair.
"Come, now, give us the order of events," said he.
"She came only an hour ago. It was the wife, this time, but the
pendant she brought was the fellow of the other. She is a tall, pale
woman, with ferret eyes."
"That is the lady," said Holmes.
"She left the office and I followed her. She walked up the Kennington
Road, and I kept behind her. Presently she went into a shop. Mr.
Holmes, it was an undertaker's."
My companion started. "Well?" he asked in that vibrant voice which
told of the fiery soul behind the cold gray face.
"She was talking to the woman behind the counter. I entered as well.
'It is late,' I heard her say, or words to that effect. The woman was
excusing herself. 'It should be there before now,' she answered. 'It
took longer, being out of the ordinary.' They both stopped and looked
at me, so I asked some questions and then left the shop."
"You did excellently well. What happened next?"
"The woman came out, but I had hid myself in a doorway. Her
suspicions had been aroused, I think, for she looked round her. Then
she called a cab and got in. I was lucky enough to get another and so
to follow her. She got down at last at No. 36, Poultney Square,
Brixton. I drove past, left my cab at the corner of the square, and
watched the house."
"Did you see anyone?"
"The windows were all in darkness save one on the lower floor. The
blind was down, and I could not see in. I was standing there,
wondering what I should do next, when a covered van drove up with two
men in it. They descended, took something out of the van, and carried
it up the steps to the hall door. Mr. Holmes, it was a coffin."
"Ah!"
"For an instant I was on the point of rushing in. The door had been
opened to admit the men and their burden. It was the woman who had
opened it. But as I stood there she caught a glimpse of me, and I
think that she recognized me. I saw her start, and she hastily closed
the door. I remembered my promise to you, and here I am."
"You have done excellent work," said Holmes, scribbling a few words
upon a half-sheet of paper. "We can do nothing legal without a
warrant, and you can serve the cause best by taking this note down to
the authorities and getting one. There may be some difficulty, but I
should think that the sale of the jewellery should be sufficient.
Lestrade will see to all details."
"But they may murder her in the meanwhile. What could the coffin
