CHAPTER VI
Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration
"Now, Watson," said Holmes, rubbing his hands, "we have half an hour
to ourselves. Let us make good use of it. My case is, as I have told
you, almost complete; but we must not err on the side of
over-confidence. Simple as the case seems now, there may be something
deeper underlying it."
"Simple!" I ejaculated.
"Surely," said he, with something of the air of a clinical professor
expounding to his class. "Just sit in the corner there, that your
footprints may not complicate matters. Now to work! In the first
place, how did these folk come, and how did they go? The door has not
been opened since last night. How of the window?" He carried the lamp
across to it, muttering his observations aloud the while, but
addressing them to himself rather than to me. "Window is snibbed on
the inner side. Framework is solid. No hinges at the side. Let us
open it. No water-pipe near. Roof quite out of reach. Yet a man has
mounted by the window. It rained a little last night. Here is the
print of a foot in mould upon the sill. And here is a circular muddy
mark, and here again upon the floor, and here again by the table. See
here, Watson! This is really a very pretty demonstration."
I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs. "This is not a
footmark," said I.
"It is something much more valuable to us. It is the impression of a
wooden stump. You see here on the sill is the boot-mark, a heavy boot
with the broad metal heel, and beside it is the mark of the
timber-toe."
"It is the wooden-legged man."
"Quite so. But there has been some one else,--a very able and
efficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?"
I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightly on
that angle of the house. We were a good sixty feet from the round,
and, look where I would, I could see no foothold, nor as much as a
crevice in the brick-work.
"It is absolutely impossible," I answered.
"Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up here who
lowered you this good stout rope which I see in the corner, securing
one end of it to this great hook in the wall. Then, I think, if you
were an active man, you might swarm up, wooden leg and all. You would
depart, of course, in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up
the rope, untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it on the
inside, and get away in the way that he originally came. As a minor
point it may be noted," he continued, fingering the rope, "that our
wooden-legged friend, though a fair climber, was not a professional
sailor. His hands were far from horny. My lens discloses more than
one blood-mark, especially towards the end of the rope, from which I
gather that he slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin
off his hand."
"This is all very well," said I, "but the thing becomes more
unintelligible than ever. How about this mysterious ally? How came he
into the room?"
"Yes, the ally!" repeated Holmes, pensively. "There are features of
interest about this ally. He lifts the case from the regions of the
commonplace. I fancy that this ally breaks fresh ground in the annals
of crime in this country,--though parallel cases suggest themselves
from India, and, if my memory serves me, from Senegambia."
"How came he, then?" I reiterated. "The door is locked, the window is
inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?"
"The grate is much too small," he answered. "I had already considered
that possibility."
"How then?" I persisted.
"You will not apply my precept," he said, shaking his head. "How
often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible
whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? We know that
he did not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We also
know that he could not have been concealed in the room, as there is
no concealment possible. Whence, then, did he come?"
"He came through the hole in the roof," I cried.
"Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will have the
kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend our researches
to the room above,--the secret room in which the treasure was found."
He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, he
swung himself up into the garret. Then, lying on his face, he reached
down for the lamp and held it while I followed him.
The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one way
and six the other. The floor was formed by the rafters, with thin
lath-and-plaster between, so that in walking one had to step from
beam to beam. The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently the inner
shell of the true roof of the house. There was no furniture of any
sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay thick upon the floor.
"Here you are, you see," said Sherlock Holmes, putting his hand
against the sloping wall. "This is a trap-door which leads out on to
the roof. I can press it back, and here is the roof itself, sloping
at a gentle angle. This, then, is the way by which Number One
entered. Let us see if we can find one other traces of his
individuality."
He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for the
second time that night a startled, surprised look come over his face.
For myself, as I followed his gaze my skin was cold under my clothes.
The floor was covered thickly with the prints of a naked
foot,--clear, well defined, perfectly formed, but scarce half the
size of those of an ordinary man.
"Holmes," I said, in a whisper, "a child has done the horrid thing."
He had recovered his self-possession in an instant. "I was staggered
for the moment," he said, "but the thing is quite natural. My memory
failed me, or I should have been able to foretell it. There is
nothing more to be learned here. Let us go down."
"What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?" I asked, eagerly,
when we had regained the lower room once more.
"My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself," said he, with a
touch of impatience. "You know my methods. Apply them, and it will be
instructive to compare results."
"I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts," I answered.
"It will be clear enough to you soon," he said, in an off-hand way.
"I think that there is nothing else of importance here, but I will
look." He whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and hurried about
the room on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long
thin nose only a few inches from the planks, and his beady eyes
gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent, and
furtive were his movements, like those of a trained blood-hound
picking out a scent, that I could not but think what a terrible
criminal he would have made had he turned his energy and sagacity
against the law, instead of exerting them in its defense. As he
hunted about, he kept muttering to himself, and finally he broke out
into a loud crow of delight.
"We are certainly in luck," said he. "We ought to have very little
trouble now. Number One has had the misfortune to tread in the
creosote. You can see the outline of the edge of his small foot here
at the side of this evil-smelling mess. The carboy has been cracked,
You see, and the stuff has leaked out."
"What then?" I asked.
"Why, we have got him, that's all," said he. "I know a dog that would
follow that scent to the world's end. If a pack can track a trailed
herring across a shire, how far can a specially-trained hound follow
so pungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in the rule of
three. The answer should give us the--But halloo! here are the
accredited representatives of the law."
Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible from below,
and the hall door shut with a loud crash.
"Before they come," said Holmes, "just put your hand here on this
poor fellow's arm, and here on his leg. What do you feel?"
"The muscles are as hard as a board," I answered.
"Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction, far exceeding
the usual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distortion of the face,
this Hippocratic smile, or 'risus sardonicus,' as the old writers
called it, what conclusion would it suggest to your mind?"
"Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid," I answered,--"some
strychnine-like substance which would produce tetanus."
"That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I saw the drawn
muscles of the face. On getting into the room I at once looked for
the means by which the poison had entered the system. As you saw, I
discovered a thorn which had been driven or shot with no great force
into the scalp. You observe that the part struck was that which would
be turned towards the hole in the ceiling if the man were erect in
his chair. Now examine the thorn."
I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern. It was
long, sharp, and black, with a glazed look near the point as though
some gummy substance had dried upon it. The blunt end had been
trimmed and rounded off with a knife.
"Is that an English thorn?" he asked.
"No, it certainly is not."
"With all these data you should be able to draw some just inference.
But here are the regulars: so the auxiliary forces may beat a
retreat."
As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded loudly on
the passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suit strode
heavily into the room. He was red-faced, burly and plethoric, with a
pair of very small twinkling eyes which looked keenly out from
between swollen and puffy pouches. He was closely followed by an
inspector in uniform, and by the still palpitating Thaddeus Sholto.
"Here's a business!" he cried, in a muffled, husky voice. "Here's a
pretty business! But who are all these? Why, the house seems to be as
full as a rabbit-warren!"
"I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones," said Holmes,
quietly.
"Why, of course I do!" he wheezed. "It's Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the
theorist. Remember you! I'll never forget how you lectured us all on
causes and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate jewel case. It's
true you set us on the right track; but you'll own now that it was
more by good luck than good guidance."
"It was a piece of very simple reasoning."
"Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up. But what is all
this? Bad business! Bad business! Stern facts here,--no room for
theories. How lucky that I happened to be out at Norwood over another
case! I was at the station when the message arrived. What d'you think
the man died of?"
"Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over," said Holmes,
dryly.
"No, no. Still, we can't deny that you hit the nail on the head
sometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I understand. Jewels worth half a
million missing. How was the window?"
"Fastened; but there are steps on the sill."
"Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have nothing to do
with the matter. That's common sense. Man might have died in a fit;
but then the jewels are missing. Ha! I have a theory. These flashes
come upon me at times.--Just step outside, sergeant, and you, Mr.
Sholto. Your friend can remain.--What do you think of this, Holmes?
Sholto was, on his own confession, with his brother last night. The
brother died in a fit, on which Sholto walked off with the treasure.
How's that?"
"On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked the door
on the inside."
"Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply common sense to the matter.
This Thaddeus Sholto was with his brother; there was a quarrel; so
much we know. The brother is dead and the jewels are gone. So much
also we know. No one saw the brother from the time Thaddeus left him.
His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a most
disturbed state of mind. His appearance is--well, not attractive. You
see that I am weaving my web round Thaddeus. The net begins to close
upon him."
"You are not quite in possession of the facts yet," said Holmes.
"This splinter of wood, which I have every reason to believe to be
poisoned, was in the man's scalp where you still see the mark; this
card, inscribed as you see it, was on the table; and beside it lay
this rather curious stone-headed instrument. How does all that fit
into your theory?"
"Confirms it in every respect," said the fat detective, pompously.
"House is full of Indian curiosities. Thaddeus brought this up, and
if this splinter be poisonous Thaddeus may as well have made
